Oh For The Love Of
by Demosthenes23
Summary: What if Murdoch DID go to seminary school and became a priest? Takes place late in S2.
1. Chapter 1

Saint Mary's was situated in the heart of downtown Toronto and was a well maintained piece of work considering it's founding over fifty years ago. Then again, it was only the third Roman Catholic church to have been constructed in the fledgling city's history and that kind of past demanded attention and respect. Many revered the awe-inspiring nature of it's grand arches, stained glass windows and Gothic tower (though this was still under construction). Today however it was being scrutinized for a startling reason; the suicide of a priest.

"What have we got doctor?" enquired Inspector Thomas Brackenreid who had come to stand outside of the confessional booth. The body had been discovered within but removed so that Dr. Ogden could better exam it.

His right hand for the time being was George Crabtree, an energetic youth with many unusual ideas. Spending so much time with the lad was starting to grate on his nerves but there was nothing for it, Detective Hammon was unavailable to do his job because he had been injured badly about a week ago, after he fell from a rusty ladder in pursuit of a suspect.

In any case, it didn't appear that Crabtree's assistance would really be necessary this time around. It was a clear cut case of suicide. There was nothing to investigate, which was good news for both of them because the constable had barely managed to solve the previous case and Brackenreid was not in much of a mood for intrigue. He was looking forward to a speedy wrap up of this examination so he could go back to the station and get his Goldcure. With any luck, it would be arriving soon and he couldn't wait.

The younger attractive woman looked over at him and then back to the dead priest. She was holding his head in her hands as she examined him. "Single gunshot wound to the head at point blank range," she said, highlighting the gun powder residue with her fingertip. She turned his head to the other side to reveal a small hole. She then held up his arm and let it fall. "As well, Rigor Mortis and Lividity mark time of death sometime last night."

"Anything else?" he asked shortly, getting ready to leave.

"Yes, inspector, as a matter of fact there is." She glanced up again and smiled. "This was not a suicide, this was murder."

Her words pounded through his skull like a thousand hammers.

"What the bloody hell do you mean it was murder?" he yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to glance over at them. "The poor sod shot himself!"

Brackenreid had been rather surly this morning with little to no patience and it didn't take much to set him off. The others had been trying to discover the reason for this change but as of yet had been unable to.

"I have to disagree, sir. While there _was_ gun powder residue present, there were no actual contact burns from the muzzle on his skull."

"So?" he roared, "So he didn't stick the gun to his head, so bloody what?"

"It's not just that," she said frowning at his behaviour. "The pattern is too spread out. If the Father _had_ pulled the trigger, the gun powder residue would be more concentrated than this. I believe this would indicate that someone sitting in the," she paused for a second, "left confessional booth was guilty of actually pulling the trigger. But you can verify that for yourself by simply taking a look at the grate in there. If I'm right, there will be gun powder residue present. It might not be visible though so use your finger in that case."

Brackenreid huffed the short distance to the central booth where the priest was found. There didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary except for his blood and brain matter splashed across the wall. And the bullet. It was lodged in the right hand booth's grate. He turned his attention to the left grate and peered closely, not detecting anything. So Brackenreid stuck his pinky finger in several of the holes and pulled it back to examine it. A black smudge was present.

Brackenreid restrained himself from screaming with a great force of will.

The doctor must have taken his silence as confirmation that she was right because she said, "So I'll need to take him back to the morgue for further examination."

He didn't respond.

"Inspector?"

"Fine," he grumbled, biting his lip. He cocked his head to the side and yelled "Oye!" and two constables, (Crabtree and Higgins) who had been taking statements from the priests' apprentices came running. "Took you long enough!" he screamed, causing them to jump in fright as his words echoed in the high walled chamber. "Well what are you lot waiting for? Hop to it!" he hollered, pointing savagely at the corpse with his cane. The constables hopped to it.

"It's a pity," said the doctor, watching their progress. Brackenreid just looked at her blankly so she elaborated. "He was quite handsome." Then she followed the body out.

Once that had been sorted, Brackenreid was filled in by Crabtree.

Jerking a thumb, "Were those blokes able to shed any light into this affair?"

"Not really, sir," replied the constable, glancing at his notes. "They were terribly shocked to find Father Brennan in that state but they are none the wiser as to who could have done this. According to them he was well liked among his congregation and the community and didn't have any enemies. As well, they have never seen the murder weapon before and are quite adamant that it was _not_ the Fathers."

"Give me _something_ to go on, Crabtree!" he growled.

"Well, sir," he said quickly, afraid of another outburst, "young Charles was under the impression that Father Brennan was out of sorts recently."

"How so?" Brackenreid said, becoming more collected again.

"Apparently he overheard him saying something about a mistake he had made."

"Mistake? What mistake?"

The lad looked apologetic. "I don't know, sir, that's all he heard."

"Bloody hell!" exploded the inspector, startling everyone in the vicinity. "Why are you so bloody useless Crabtree?"

The constable looked upset but didn't say anything.

Brackenreid then pushed past him and stormed out of the church.

_Goddamn bloody case!_

* * *

Father Brennan had no next of kin in this part of the world so they called in the next best thing, another priest from another Roman Catholic church, Father Murdoch. The apprentices from St. Mary's had said this man was the particular friend of Father Brennan, having gone to seminary school together in Montreal.

"Tell me, Father," said Brackenreid pacing behind his desk, "do you know anything about this mistake Father Brennan made?" The dark haired man stared at him impassively. "Could it be the reason he was killed?"

"I'd rather not speculate," replied the younger man softly but firmly.

Brackenreid eyed him closely and clenched his teeth together. "So you _do _know something then?"

"Possibly."

"Would you care to elaborate?" he said, annoyed at his cryptic manner.

"Michael told me certain things in confidence, during confession. It is not my place to divulge such things to anyone else."

"Confession?" said Brackenreid sharply. "Why would a priest need to go to confession?"

_Unless he's guilty of a crime._

Father Murdoch smiled slightly. "Even saints need to confess, inspector. To be human is to err."

He frowned. "You aren't going to help me, are you?" he sulked.

"On the contrary, inspector. I'd be happy to help as long as I'm not required to divulge any of Michael's sins. Those are between him and God."

Brackenreid tried to control his anger before speaking again but couldn't. "With all due respect, Father," he said slamming his hands into the desk, shaking the pen in the ink pot, "but that is a load of bollocks! Father Brennan is dead! Surely that should free up your goddamn tongue a bit!"

The young priest had been unimpressed with his display. "I'm sorry but you have my answer. I will not break my vows for any reason."

Brackenreid half thought of breaking out the old black glove on this uncooperative bastard but then thought better of it. He tried another tactic instead.

"And what if you are the key to solving your friends murder?" he barked. "Will you be satisfied with never knowing the truth?"

Father Murdoch simply looked at him sadly. "If it is God's will, then so be it."

_Bugger this!_ _Why is everyone so goddamn useless?_

"Might I see, Michael?" the priest asked, somewhat abruptly.

The inspector restrained himself from grabbing his stupid hat and shoving it down his stupid throat. "Why of course, Father!" bellowed Brackenreid with impressive vigour, (even for himself) making heads turn. "It would be my goddamn pleasure to grant you access to the goddamn body since you've been _so _goddamn helpful in this investigation!"

"Please stop taking the Lord's name in vain," was the priests only response to this. He had barely flinched throughout the inspectors whole display. Clearly it took a lot to ruffle his feathers.

Brackenreid screamed.

* * *

Julia was washing her blood stained hands when George and a handsome priest entered the observation room. It was not the time to be making such comparisons but she couldn't help but think that this man was even more attractive than the dead one in front of her, far more so, even in his flowing robes and somewhat silly priest hat.

"Father Murdoch would like to say goodbye to his friend," said the constable, fiddling with the helmet in his hands. He seemed to be uncomfortable around the man for some reason. Perhaps he had misbehaved recently?

She did her best not to smile at the thought.

"Yes, the inspector just called."

"There's something wrong with him," said the priest bluntly.

"We know," both Julia and George said simultaneously, sharing a look.

"Anyway..." She glanced at the priest and gestured to the body. "Please, Father."

He walked over to the slab with the y shaped blood pattern poking through the white sheet and waited for her to lift it back. She watched as he crossed himself and as his expression softened at the sight of his dead friend. No tears were shed and he said nothing, not even when she gave him her condolences. Julia had the distinct impression that he was off in another world, silently praying. She knew she should give him some space but she couldn't seem to help herself. She felt compelled to watch him for as long as possible, to be near him, to hold him close and console him.

_Get a grip, Julia! He's a priest!_

She had some serious issues! Every man she had ever been remotely attracted to had either been married or else unobtainable in some other way (like being a homosexual for instance). This was the first time though that a man of the cloth had caught her eye so completely (undoubtedly this was due to her poor church attendance). Maybe she did this sort of thing to herself on purpose so that she would never actually have to commit to anyone and risk losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve? Whatever the reason, it was extremely annoying and frustrating.

All too soon, Father Murdoch nodded at her curtly and then left rapidly, George scrambling to keep up with him. Julia sighed to herself and glanced down at the dead man.

"Looks like it's just you and me again."

She picked up her scalpel and got back to work.

* * *

Brackenreid visited the morgue about an hour later for the full autopsy results.

"Dr. Ogden," he said with a distinct edge to his voice, "do you have anything else to report?"

He was hoping the answer to that was yes as he didn't have much to go on so far and didn't want to bring in another detective to help him out, further proving his incompetence and bringing into question his position at the head of the precinct. But worse than all that would be Crabtree's smug look at his failure. Brackenreid would be the first to admit that he was often hard on his men, but Crabtree in particular since he really got on his nerves.

_Bloody well deserves it, the tosser._

She pulled the body sideways to reveal his back. There were many angry welts popping out in bold red. Some were older and faded but most appeared to be quite fresh.

"As you can see, Father Brennan had been practising self flagellation."

"Self what?"

"Flagellation. I've read that it's something religious types do when they want to physically repent their sins."

"Bloody mental is what it is," he scoffed. "So he was feeling guilty about something. We bloody well already knew that!"

She looked at him unimpressed and he continued, "What else?"

"Time of death was between eleven and midnight."

Brackenreid made a face. "Is it usual for priests to still be in church so late?"

The doctor made a similar face. "I really have no idea, inspector." She smirked. "I'm not what you'd call a devout follower."

He remained intensely serious. "Is that everything then?" he snapped.

"I'm afraid so, inspector," she said coldly.

He grit his teeth and managed not to scream obscenities at the doctor.

_Looks like I'm on my bloody own with this one! As usual!_

"Bollocks!" he snarled instead.

The doctor put her hands on her hips. "Really now, inspector, what seems to be troubling you so much today?"

"It's this bloody case!"

"Since when has a case gotten you so riled up?"

"It was supposed to just be a suicide!"

She looked at him pointedly for a moment. "No, there's something else bothering you. From what I understood from George-"

"Bloody bastard can't keep his mouth shut!"

Her voice got louder, "-you were like this _before_ we got the call from the church. I'd like to help you but I can't do that if you don't tell me what's wrong."

He pointed his cane at her, eyes popping out of his skull. "Just bloody well leave me alone woman!" Then he stormed out of there.


	2. Chapter 2

Since the doctor's findings were not very helpful, Brackenreid was forced to continue the investigation blind. They started by searching the priests living quarters, (ignoring his acolytes protests) looking for anything out of the ordinary that might give them a clue as to what Father Brennan had been up to recently. Besides a funny looking lash with multiple prongs and dried blood, there was nothing. Needless to say, Brackenreid was less than pleased and he let everyone within a mile radius know.

Next the inspector got Crabtree and Higgins to look into the Father's latest movements because he wasn't feeling equal to the task any longer. He had a raging headache and couldn't focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. As well, he felt like he was crawling out of his skin, like a million ants were scurrying across every part of him, biting him all over. More than anything though, he wanted a drink, a very large, very strong drink. But he had promised his wife that he would quit and so he intended to persevere in this lunacy for as long as possible.

Currently he had the blinds drawn and was pacing around his office in a highly agitated manner. Somehow he was restraining himself from turning the place upside down.

_Where the bloody hell is it? It should have been here ages ago! _

He poked his head out for what felt like the hundredth time that minute and glanced toward the station house entrance. There was still no sign of the attendant who would administer the glorious medicine. Losing his patience he burst out of his office completely, (eliciting some stares from the lads) and went over to the front desk.

"Johnson, has there been a man for me?"

The desk sergeant looked at him confusedly. "A man, sir?"

"A man with a package!" he snapped. "Has he shown up yet?"

Johnson shook his head. "No, sir."

_ What if the bastard was trying to keep the wonder drug all for himself?_

Brackenreid eyed him suspiciously. "You wouldn't lie to your superior, would you?"

The older man seemed disturbed by the very notion. "No, sir, never."

Jabbing his finger at him, "If I find out-"

"Sir!" exclaimed the all too familiar chatter of Crabtree from behind.

Brackenreid whirled around to face the out of breath constable and his partner Higgins. "What do you _want_ Crabtree?" he barked. "Can't you see I'm _busy_?"

His eyes were bright and childlike. "Terribly sorry to interrupt sir but I think we've discovered something of great importance!"

"_And_?" yelled the inspector. "What is it?"

The young lad finally had the sense to stop smiling so stupidly and became much more businesslike. He cleared his throat. "Well, sir, we've determined that Father Brennan spent most of his time in St. Mary's and the rectory attached to it. He didn't like to be out in the world much and preferred to keep to himself when he wasn't preaching or giving absolution. He lived a rather lonely life if you ask me. I certainly wouldn't have been cut out for the priesthood." Crabtree actually smirked. "I find I like certain...stimulation too much."

Brackenreid was giving him a death glare and an ugly vein was pulsating violently on his temple. Higgins nudged his friend, and when Crabtree looked at him confusedly, not following what was wrong, continued for him.

"Sir," Higgins said quickly, "what George is _trying_ to say is that we found it very strange that Father Brennan had been spotted at the local pub," he glanced at his notes, "_The Haggard Hound_, several times this week."

"_And_?" he repeated, sharply.

Higgins smirked. "And Father Murdoch was seen with him."

_Bollocks!_

"What do you want us to do, sir?"

"Drag his holiness down here pronto! I want some goddamn answers!"

* * *

Father Murdoch came willingly enough (though he had been in the middle of preparing a sermon). There was no need to threaten or man handle him which was fortunate as that would have made the two constables exceedingly uncomfortable. They expected to direct him towards the inspectors office again but were quickly redirected towards the interrogation room.

"In here!" snapped Brackenreid.

Murdoch looked at him calmly and headed over to the irate inspector.

"Park it!" he ordered, slamming the door.

Murdoch did so with a flourish of his robes, placing his hands in his lap. Crabtree and Higgins waited outside the viewing area which served to annoy Brackenreid a great deal.

"Scram!" he yelled through the glass and the constables skittered away.

The Father said nothing, waiting for the inspector to make the first move. His calm demeanour also served to annoy Brackenreid a great deal.

"What are you hiding Father?!" he erupted, slamming his hands onto the table.

"I don't have the pleasure of understanding you, inspector."

"Don't you dare give me that bollocks!" he shouted, pointing a savage finger at him. "You were seen at a bloody pub multiple times with Father Brennan! What kind of priests do that unless they are very troubled?! Or _in _trouble?! I mean isn't it against your bloody beliefs to even _consume_ alcohol?!"

"As I told you before inspector, we are men just like you who go to confession. We are allowed to indulge in the occasional beer. Of course, most of us do not do such a thing very frequently."

The inspector began to pace, with his hands behind his back.

"So your drinking is not connected to Father Brennan's death in any way?! Drowning your sorrows and whatnot! It's just a coincidence that you've both been frequenting a pub over the past week?!"

"I never said _I _was drinking, inspector. I was simply lending moral support to my friend."

"What about exactly?" he snapped, knowing full well what the response would be.

"I'm afraid that information is privileged."

Suddenly Brackenreid had an epiphany.

Abruptly he stopped pacing and exclaimed, "I bet you're _really_ holding out on me because _you're_ the killer!"

"I can see how you might think that, inspector but I assure you, I am not."

Brackenreid strode over to Murdoch and tried to intimidate him with his menacing glare. All that happened was the Father raised an eyebrow. Brackenreid yanked out a black glove from his inside pocket and pulled it on his right hand. Murdoch raised his other eyebrow.

"Is this to be the Inquisition then?" he asked, no sign of fear. "Will you beat me until I break?"

"If that's what it takes!" snarled Brackenreid.

The Father turned away from him. "May God have mercy on your soul."

Brackenreid grabbed the front of his cassock and raised his gloved fist.

"Inspector!" shrieked a woman from behind. "What on _earth_ are you _doing_?!"

Brackenreid whirled around to face Dr. Ogden, who was currently standing in the doorway with a shocked and disbelieving expression.

"This doesn't concern you woman!" he barked.

"It most certainly does!" she replied. "You are quite out of control! And I-"

"For the last time!" he bellowed, storming over to her. "Leave me the bloody hell alone!"

"I will not! Not when I've discovered the source of your affliction!"

That stopped him in his tracks. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?!"

"I examined your so called Goldcure and-"

"What a minute!" he shouted, face livid, advancing again. "_You're _the reason I never received my bloody medicine!"

"Yes," she said without a trace of apology. "I had a hunch and then called in a favour, having it redirected to the morgue instead. And-"

"Goddamn you woman!" he screamed, close to striking her.

In an instant, Father Murdoch was nearby, ready to intervene if necessary. It was then that Brackenreid also noticed several constables in the vicinity as well. They were all eyeing him strangely and for a second he felt badly about his behaviour.

The doctor continued unperturbed. "And among other things, it contained traces of Cocaine! Inspector, you are suffering from Cocaine addiction!"

With everyone staring and crowding around him, he felt almost claustrophobic and pushed past them and into his office, slamming the door and making the glass shake.

Father Murdoch looked around at them, his gaze lingering on Julia for a fraction of a second too long. She relished the experience far too much and once more had to silently chastise herself for her foolishness.

"I suppose this means I am free to leave?"

George glanced at Henry as well as the others. "I suppose so, Father. Let me escort you back to your church."

Murdoch gestured with his hand. "No, that will not be necessary constable. It appears you have enough to deal with at the moment." He looked at the young man with an almost undetectable smile. "If at all possible, please do not disturb me again. Otherwise I fear my next sermon will be quite short."

The constables parted like the red sea and as he passed through the narrow doorway, the cuff of his long sleeve brushed her hand and with it, one of his fingers. Even though they had not really touched, she felt a twinge of electricity go through her. As she watched him leave through the side door, she found she had little control over her actions and took several steps in his direction. Then she realized what she was doing and stopped herself, noticing her surroundings again. George was still standing there watching her closely with a somewhat puzzled look on his face. She became conscious of the fact that she was blushing faintly and this knowledge seemed to make her blush even harder.

Trying to draw attention away from herself she said, "That was quite interesting constable."

"Indeed, doctor." He stared at her for another couple of interminably long seconds before glancing away and over at the inspector's office. "Now what do we do? How do we get the inspector back to normal? Well, _his _normal anyway."

She sighed. "I'm afraid there isn't much we _can_ do, George. The inspector will just have to ride the storm until he no longer craves the drug."

"And how long will _that_ take?" he asked frowning. "I'm not sure I can handle much more of this cantankerous behaviour."

"It's hard to say but I imagine it will be several more days...at least."

George said incredulously, "Oh my socks! The lads will mutiny before then!" Looking at her guiltily, "Would it be so bad if he continued taking this...Goldcure?" She raised her eyebrows at the suggestion. "Just until we solve this case!" he added hastily.

Julia smiled slightly but there was no warmth behind the action. "I don't believe that is up to you or me, George. If the inspector wants to get his next fix, he will surely find a way."

"But he knows it's bad for him!" exclaimed the constable.

This time she smiled in a bemused manner. "Since when has that stopped him from drinking to excess?"

His face lit up with inspiration. "We need to get his wife involved then!"

She laughed. "It's your funeral," -she gestured with her hand, -"but by all means, George, bring in Mrs. Brackenreid."

The young man gulped and she left him to contemplate such a suicidal action.

* * *

Brackenreid didn't give a toss about Dr. Ogden's revelation. What did it matter if his medicine contained cocaine? It wasn't illegal to take the bloody stuff! And it made him feel so good. With that thought in mind, he managed to stumble out of his darkened office...only to come into contact with his wife! She advanced forward, pushing him back into his den.

"What's all this nonsense about, Thomas?" she asked sternly. "I was in the middle of a bridge game with the girls, when one of your constables came by all in a dither about your abominable behaviour!"

"Which one of those bastards was it?!" he shouted, trying to look past her shoulder at his men. Everyone glanced away quickly, but Crabtree was a little bit slower than the rest, like a deer caught in carriage headlights.

"I'll kill the bastard!" he growled, trying to push past her but she was standing her ground.

"You will do no such thing, Thomas! This is between you and me! And watch your language!"

"Out of my way, Margaret!" he roared.

"Make me!"

"Don't think I won't!" he hollered, clenching a fist. A lesser woman would have been terrified and did as he said. Even in his frenzied state of mind, he could appreciate the great strength of will his wife possessed.

"If you dare lay a hand on me, Thomas J. Brackenreid, this marriage is _over_!"

Her threat infuriated him to no end but he knew she was deadly serious. Things had been rocky between them ever since she forced him to give up drinking. It wouldn't take much more to send her packing to her sisters place. If that happened, he'd be lucky to ever see his children again.

"I just need a little goddamn relief!" he whined. "A man needs certain things to keep him going everyday!"

Margaret looked at him pointedly. "And _cocaine_ is the way to do that, is it? Even when it turns you into a wild beast?"

"I wouldn't need the bloody stuff if you weren't so goddamn unreasonable!"

"_Language_, Thomas!"

He howled in frustration and when he looked back at her, her features seemed to have softened slightly.

"I suppose a compromise _could_ be reached...if you would behave like a gentleman for one second and not a stuck pig."

Brackenreid's eye twitched a bit but then he somehow managed to calm himself down.

"If I quit the temperance league, will you quit cocaine for good?"

He grit his teeth and said, "Only if I can drink again."

She sighed. "Oh I suppose so." His face genuinely lit up for the first time all day. "Provided it's in moderation..."

_I can drink again! Scotch here I come!_

_"..._and you take me to the theatre once in a while and actually _listen_ to things I have to say."

"You're a wonderful woman, Mrs. Brackenreid!" he exclaimed, pulling her in for a brief dance around his office. She appeared vaguely amused by his change in demeanour and even allowed herself to be twirled a few times.

After he released her she said, "I better not hear any more about this Goldcure business...or else."

"You have my word, Margaret!"

His wife smiled faintly at him and left. Immediately after Brackenreid barged into Detective Hammon's office and rifled through his alcohol stash, picking out a particularly fine blend of whiskey.

_I'll pay him back, _he thought as he poured himself a large helping of the liquid amber.

After the first succulent swallow, he vividly recalled all that he had been missing and sighed in contentment. Once the glass had been drained, he poured himself another. As he headed back to his office, with full glass in hand, he called Crabtree in. The constable gave him the same terrified look as before but obeyed, the others watching as he stepped onto the gangplank.

"So Crabtree," said Brackenreid pleasantly enough, sitting on the edge of his desk, "I see you went and interfered in your superior's personal life."

"Well, sir-"

The inspector put a hand up to silence him, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You've got a lot of nerve, Crabtree. Not much in the way of brains, but I must admit that you are far more courageous than I gave you credit for."

The lad looked anything but that at the moment. "Sir, I'm so-"

"You're also very lucky," he continued over him. "If my wife hadn't relented in her devious ways, I'd say you'd be about six feet under right about now."

Constable Crabtree gulped and didn't attempt to say anything else. There was an awkward silence as Brackenreid sipped away at his elixir. He drained the rest of it, feeling ever so slightly better but far from his usual jolly self.

"Where are we on the bloody case?" he grunted.

Crabtree appeared very relieved that the conversation had now switched to something more palatable. That is until he thought about it for a second, then his face became apologetic looking.

"I'm afraid we're not further ahead than this afternoon, sir. There wasn't much of a money trail to follow and we still have no idea what this mistake was that Father Brennan made."

_And we don't even know if that was the reason for his death._

"Bloody priests," he muttered. "If Murdoch wasn't so goddamn holy, this could have been solved this morning!"

"I hope you don't want me to bring him in again, sir. Three times in one day would be rather much, especially with him being a priest and all."

Brackenreid glared at his tone. "No, Crabtree, I am quite finished with that tosser. We'll need to figure something else out." Thinking aloud, "What haven't we tried?"

"Well sir," said the lad answering him, "I was thinking we could interview his congregation. Father Brennan was found in a confessional after all. It seems likely that one of them would be the culprit."

Brackenreid scowled. "And how many people are we talking here, Crabtree? Fifty? A Hundred?"

"At least that, sir, it's a big church."

"I guess you better get started then. Focus on ascertaining who owned the same gun."

Crabtree appeared puzzled by this. "With all due respect, sir, but what would that accomplish? I mean, if the killer left his gun at the scene of the crime, surely he would simply lie about owning one?"

"That's why you're interviewing _everyone_ Crabtree! Friends tend to know these little details! If someone gets caught up in a lie, then we have him! Now I suggest you get started!"

Crabtree looked upset by the very idea. "It's almost nine o'clock, sir...I don't think it's the best time to start such a demanding task."

"Goddamn it! Then tomorrow! Get started at the crack of dawn! I want this bloody case over and done with by the time I leave this bloody place!"

"Sir!" said Crabtree, promptly leaving.

_Now where was I? Oh yes..._

He picked up his empty glass and headed back into Detective Hammon's office.


	3. Chapter 3

Since she had finished Father Brennan's autopsy the day before, (as well as analyzed the inspector's 'medicine') and there were no new cases from the other station houses, Julia found she had little to do with herself. So she did what she always did when bored, she picked up a good book and began to read with some quiet music playing in the background. She found her time in the morgue was frequently very lonely, even with her attendant present, (he was not a very chatty man) and the music helped her cover up the 'dead' silence all around. Currently her favourite song was '_After the Ball_', a sad tale about two lovers that were separated forever by a simple misunderstanding. Julia was pretty sure that if she ever ended up in a serious relationship, she wouldn't let something as trivial as miscommunication get in the way of true happiness.

For about an hour she attempted to re-read H.G. Wells first and most well known piece of fiction, _The Time Machine_. It (and he) was famous for good reason. It was a very compelling, very terrifying look into a far flung future where the essence of humanity was all but abolished. Though highly unlikely to ever happen, Julia would not want to take a ride in a time machine if given the opportunity. What the protagonist of the story had to go through was more than she could have handled.

However, part of her _was_ intrigued with viewing the near future, specifically her future and how it related to a certain handsome priest. Though they had scarcely said two words to each other, she felt that there was something there. Every time she was near him, there was an electric charge in the air (at least on her part) and it became harder and harder not to say or do something inappropriate.

Julia tossed the book aside and put her head in her hands.

But what did it matter? It was not like anything was ever going to happen between them! Why must she continuously delude herself on that score? Why couldn't she just put him out of her mind and move on with her life? What was wrong with her? Was she simply a glutton for punishment? Or was it something more?

She was very much an amateur in the ways of the heart and so the answer continued to elude her even though it was right in front of her face.

* * *

"Progress report?" asked the inspector late that morning.

He felt a bit better than the previous day but it was only the promise of more booze that kept him sane.

"Nothing's come up so far, sir," replied Crabtree, involuntarily flinching at what Brackenreid assumed the constable thought would be a blowup response.

The inspector did have a hard time controlling his frustration and closed his eyes for a few seconds and counted to five, focusing on his breathing.

"Keep at it," he said after he had opened them.

Crabtree made a funny face like he couldn't believe such a light response had been given.

"Sir," he said leaving quickly to go join Higgins and a few other constables in their never ending interviews.

Brackenreid sighed. _Bloody case_, he thought for the thousandth time. If there was some way to simply track ownership of the gun, they could have sorted this mess out ages ago! But guns were not registered here. Anyone could purchase one whenever they felt so inclined. Even women.

One time he had heard Dr. Ogden say something or other about oily deposits from fingers being left on inanimate objects that could theoretically be used to identify a suspect, but didn't know much more than that. None of the precincts here were using such advanced forensic techniques. He wouldn't even know how to go about collecting a finger smudge! Even if he did, he would have nothing to compare it to! Unless...if they catalogued every member of the congregation, then just maybe they could get a match! But how could he justify such a thing for so many innocent people?

He sighed again. They would need to narrow their field of search down considerably before he would even bother looking into such matters.

* * *

In the afternoon he had an annoying visit from his superior, Chief Constable Stockton. The man was just about the last person Brackenreid wanted to deal with right now...or ever. Some people had a flowing charisma that made everyone around them instantly take a liking. Stockton had negative charm and literally repelled those present. Without even speaking, it was as if a cloud of doom had descended in Brackenreid's office.

"Thomas," he said in a tone that meant this meeting would be all business.

_This can't be good_, he thought, steeling himself for the coming conversation.

"Chief Constable," Brackenreid replied, moving out from behind his desk to meet the man in the middle of his office. Brackenreid liked to think of it as No man's land as most confrontations with the chief were a battle of wills.

"Would you care for a drink, sir?"

Stockton stared at him with those dead eyes that showed no emotion, further convincing Brackenreid that the man was not fully human.

"Your wife has finally let you partake again, eh?"

It was not said in a humourous way but in a contemptuous manner as a way to knock him back down a peg, as if he wasn't a real man who couldn't even control his own wife. Even if this was true, he sure as hell didn't want to hear it from the likes of the chief! From what he understood from the rumour mill, even his wife and children wanted nothing to do with him. In that instant, Brackenreid had no sympathy for the man's likely tattered home life.

The inspector clenched his jaw tightly and counted to five, just like he had done with Crabtree in an effort to control his continuous rage. For the time being, this tactic worked.

Instead of responding to that he said in his cheeriest disposition, "What can I do for you today, sir?"

"Is it true that you are investigating the death of a papist?"

Brackenreid had no great love of Catholics himself but then again, he had no great love for religion in general. The whole thing seemed like a waste of time and he resented all the times Margaret forced him to go to church with her and the boys. Even so, he didn't like it when derogatory terms were used. (Though when he said things about the French it was perfectly acceptable in his eyes, making him no more of a hypocrite than the rest of his station house).

"Yes, sir, Father Brennan was his name and he was-"

"How much longer do you intend to waste police resources on this case?"

"The investigation is still in the preliminary stages-"

"So awhile then." Stockton shook his head. "I can't allow that Thomas. There are much more important matters that need to be attended to."

The inspector frowned. "Such as?"

"I hear some dogs have gone missing."

Brackenreid was absolutely outraged and would have been regardless of his current pains.

"You can't be serious!" he exploded. "A man was murdered!"

Stockton gave him an unblinking stare. "You have until tomorrow evening to solve this case and then I want it closed."

"And if I can't?!" he snapped.

"Find a way. I don't care if you have to beat the Pope himself to get a confession, I just want it over and done with. Is that understood, Thomas?"

The inspector was one hairs breadth away from throttling the man and so all of his being was focused on not attempting that particular task and he could not respond. It was also because of this intense concentration that the irony of the situation was lost on him. Only a few hours ago he had wanted nothing more than a speedy conclusion to this case. Now that the chief wanted the same thing, he had immediately changed his mind.

"I want an answer, Thomas. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," he managed at last.

The chief constable finally left and Brackenreid muttered "prick," picked up his cane and viciously whacked the spot where he had previously been standing until most of his frustration and rage had been burned out.

_ One day I will murder him and no one will ever find the body._

Brackenreid smiled contently to himself and sat back down in his chair for a nap.

* * *

By the evening, Brackenreid had gotten fed up with waiting for their return so he went and sought the constables out. It took some doing but he eventually located them leaving one of the parishioner's homes. They didn't seem very happy to see him and Brackenreid had little doubt why. Still it was his duty to be filled in.

"What have you got?"

"Well, sir," said Higgins, "we've determined that only three members of the congregation owned Smith and Wesson revolvers."

That sounded like good news so why were they so gloomy looking?

"Which of them has...misplaced theirs?"

Whoever shot Father Brennan would no longer have theirs as it was left at the scene of the crime in a hasty attempt to make it look like a suicide.

Higgins glanced at his notes. "A Mr. Zachiarah Doakes."

"What was his alibi?"

"He didn't have one, sir," said Higgins. "He claims to have been asleep at the time of the murder but no one can corroborate this."

_Looks like the Chief will get his bloody wish after all._

The inspector was incredulous. "Well then what are you waiting for lads, bring him in!"

The constables shared a look. "It's not that simple, sir," said Crabtree.

_Or maybe not.  
_

"Explain," he barked, beginning to lose his patience.

"Mr. Doakes claims someone stole his revolver."

"If that's true then why didn't he report the theft?"

"He claims it was his fathers weapon," said Crabtree, "and that he never touched it himself. He didn't even know it was missing until we asked to see it."

"Besides sir," continued Higgins, "if he was guilty, why would he even tell us that he owned the thing? He could have just lied."

Brackenreid scowled. "Isn't it obvious?" They stared at him blankly. "He's trying to make you two numbskulls look the fool! And clearly he's succeeded! So why don't you smarten up and bring the bastard in for questioning?!"

"Sir!" they both said simultaneously heading off.

* * *

Mr. Doakes was a chubby neurotic mess that easily cracked under the inspector's intense interrogation. But not about the murder. He started confessing every little bad thing he had ever done, crossing himself repeatedly, while he rocked back and forth. When Brackenreid showed him the pictures of the late Father, the man practically puked all over the floor. It could have been an act but the inspector had been to many fine performances over the years and could tell the difference. This man was genuinely upset by the Father's death. And there was no motive for the man that Brackenreid could find. Which meant the culprit was still at large.

_I need a drink._

* * *

He crossed himself once he had sat down in the darkened confessional. Only a small amount of light was filtering in through the centre booth where the dim lantern was stationed. As a result, both he and Father O'Connor were drowned in diamond shadows dictated by the grate separating them. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It's been one day since my last confession."

"That seems a bit excessive, my son, even for you." His words were joking but his voice still contained the usual serious lilt. "What seems to be troubling you?"

"Michael's death...it should not have happened."

The priest with bearded, rounded face nodded almost imperceptibly. "Such a tragic loss. But you can take comfort in the knowledge that he is at peace and with God now."

Murdoch was silent for several seconds. "And if he isn't?"

Father O'Connor did his best to stifle his surprise. "What do you mean, William? Why wouldn't he have gone to heaven?" Again Murdoch said nothing for awhile. "Speak your mind, my son. As I'm sure you're abundantly aware, this is a safe haven for all of the faithful."

He did not respond for a full half minute. Sighing, "I can't tell you, Father. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, my son." The disapproval was buried beneath the surface but it was definitely there. "When you are ready, you will find your voice."

Murdoch did not get up to leave.

"Is there something else, William?"

He hesitated before responding. "There is a woman..."

"Go on."

"I do not even know her name but I feel...drawn to her."

"And you are feeling guilty about this?"

"Not that exactly, Father...but the...impure thoughts I have been having _about_ her. They are most...unsettling."

Father O'Connor chuckled. "We have all experienced that phenomenon at one point or another. It's perfectly natural. It shows that you are human."

Somewhat abruptly, "How do I get them to stop plaguing me?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Murdoch nodded absently. "What if I_ have _been trying that and it hasn't been working?"

"Then you aren't trying hard enough. Keep at it. Sooner or later your mind will be blank and purified." A slight pause. "Now say ten Hail Mary's and five Our Fathers."

"So little?" he asked cocking his head to the side.

"William, you only had some unwanted thoughts. It's not like you did anything to act on them, right?"

"No, Father, I would never-"

"Then that should be plenty. May the Lord be with you." The priest crossed himself. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."


	4. Chapter 4

It was now the third day of the investigation and they still had virtually nothing to go on. The inspector trusted his instincts and didn't for a second think that Mr. Doakes was guilty. But he was still hurting from his Goldcure withdrawal and needed something to keep him occupied so he decided to try something new. He went to the morgue and got Dr. Ogden to explain the principles of fingermarking and how one would go about doing this. She provided him with a contact who would have the necessary supplies. Brackenreid collected them and then took the murder weapon out of the evidence cabinet and into his office. He closed the blinds so that the lads couldn't see what he was doing but opened the ones behind his desk so that _he_ could.

Using the fine tipped brush he began liberally applying the inky powder. The inspector was astonished when it actually worked and several fingermarks became apparent. Next he took the tape and peeled each print off and stuck them to white cardboard. Using the magnifying glass that was part of the kit, he was just able to determine that they all looked different. At first he was confused, thinking that many people had handled the gun but then he remembered what Dr. Ogden had said. Apparently even the same person had variations in their fingermarks. In any case, he wanted to see this thing through so he headed to Doakes house and retrieved his fingermarks. Then he went back to the morgue to collect Father Brennans'.

Dr. Ogden wheeled the priest out from cold storage, her excitement at bearing witness to such radical forensic techniques was palpable. Brackenreid took his prints and used his new trusty magnifying glass to compare the sources. One was clearly the Fathers but the rest were not. Apparently when the gun was placed in his hand after the fact, that was the only one that stuck. None of Doakes fingermarks matched. There was no doubt at all that he had been framed. The inspector said as much to the doctor.

She frowned. "I don't think so, inspector."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the killer attempted to make this look like a suicide..."

"Your point, doctor?" he asked getting irritated and feeling stupid.

"Why would their intent be to frame Mr. Doakes?" She gestured to the body still on the cold slab. "It was far from a sure thing that I would determine this to be murder. A less astute pathologist would have missed the discrepancies in the gun powder residue distribution. In that case, there would have been no investigation...or at least not as thorough of one."

"Fine," he grunted, conceding her point. "So we can assume the killer simply didn't own his own gun and knew that Doakes wasn't likely to miss his."

"Perhaps," she replied, thoughtfully.

"What now?"

"I'm not sure why he would do that. Why risk stealing a weapon when he could have just as easily purchased his own, or used another altogether...like a knife?" There was a brief silence. "This is going to sound a bit strange but what if the killer took Mr. Doakes gun as a way to replace his own? Just in case the constabulary came calling."

Her theory would explain the discrepancy between trying to make it look like a suicide but at the same time apparently trying to frame Mr. Doakes.

"So you're saying the murder weapon is _not_ Mr. Doakes but the actual killers?"

"It's possible, I suppose. I'm just thinking aloud here. I'm probably way off base."

"I think you might be on to something here doctor!" he exclaimed and she beamed at him.

"I've been meaning to ask you, inspector. How are you fairing?"

"I'm fine," he said, even as he felt the terrible ache and need spreading throughout his body. "Right as rain."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Indeed? That's quite remarkable."

He could tell that she didn't buy his story for a second so he said,"I best be off!"

* * *

When he got back to the station house, he was met with the same unwelcome sight as the previous day, stupid Stockton in his office.

"I was surprised when I opened my paper this morning and the headline didn't read, '_Papists killer apprehended._' As he spoke it seemed as though his voice was dripping with disdain and disapproval. "I thought we had an understanding?"

"I'm doing my bloody best!" he yelled. He gestured outside to his men. "We all are!"

"I already told you, inspector, I don't care how this case is closed, I just want it over and done with. It's too bad Detective Hammon has been incapacitated. He would have followed orders without complaint. He is a loyal member of this constabulary...and a proper protestant."

Brackenreid made himself as menacing and looming as possible. "I don't care what you want, sir! I intend to do my job properly! Something you should try once in awhile."

"Careful now, Thomas." The chiefs eyes showed movement, a flash of anger perhaps? "I could have you replaced at a moments whim."

If that was true, he would have been fired a long time ago.

"As it is, I've requested Detective McDonald to come in and wrap this investigation up. You can be rest assured that he will do what he is told."

McDonald was Prosecutor Dillard's stooge and was considered to be the resident idiot of the constabulary. The inspector felt sorry for the man because he didn't realize how stupid he really was.

"But I've just had a break in the case!"

"You will give him your full cooperation or you will suffer the consequences. That is all, Thomas," he said and left.

_ I think this weekend will be a good time for another murder._

* * *

The inspector ignored McDonald from the moment he entered his establishment and even went so far as to tell the lads to withhold the case files from him. Eventually McDonald gave up and stormed out of the place, likely going to tell on him.

In order to get back on track and test the doctor's theory out, Brackenreid had Doakes brought in again. The man was absolutely petrified of the inspector and was pleading with him not to throw him in jail.

"Quit your yapping!" he shouted.

Doakes cowered a bit but did as he said. The inspector pushed the murder weapon towards Doakes. Again, the man seemed terrified.

His eyes got very wide. "I didn't do it!"

"I know that already!"

"You- you what? Then what am I doing here?"

"Take a close look at that weapon. Is it yours?"

"As I told your constables, it was my fathers-"

"Just look at it!" he snapped.

The man hurried to comply. After a few seconds he frowned.

"What is it?" asked the inspector, eagerly.

"My father's revolver had an inscription on the handle. It was fairly worn away but it was still visible if you knew were to look."

"What did it say?"

Doakes looked up at him. "Oh it was just his initials. J.D."

Brackenreid smiled to himself. Higgins had mentioned that two other parishioners owned the same model as the murder weapon. He didn't care that both of them had had alibi's. One of them was lying and it was time to bring this bastard to justice.

* * *

The first man was a no go. The revolver did not match. The second man's did.

"So, Mr. Douglas, what do you have to say for yourself now?" asked Brackenreid pleasantly as he loomed in front of the man across the interview table.

"I'm not sure what you mean," the tall, slender middle aged man replied.

"Why did you steal Mr. Doakes gun?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, inspector."

Brackenreid slid 'his' gun over to him like he had Mr. Doakes. "Take a close look at it."

He did and then looked up enquiringly at the inspector.

"Do you see those two faint markings on the handle there?"

Douglas stared at it. He hid his surprise at the initials being there as best he could but Brackenreid could tell that he was rattled.

"Those initials stand for Jacob Doakes."

Douglas still said nothing. Brackenreid could practically see the minimal gears in his mind turning, desperately trying to figure a way out of this mess.

"So I'll ask you again. Why did you steal his gun?"

"I was planning on pawning it," he said quickly. "I needed the money."

Brackenreid laughed. "Bollocks! Why would you hold on to it for so long then?"

He didn't respond.

"I'll tell you why you did." Brackenreid became menacing. "Your friends knew you owned a revolver. You were always showing off your skills at the club. You were trying to cover your tracks after you killed Father Brennan! You goddamn bastard!"

No response except for a slight twitch of an eye.

"The only thing I don't know, is why. Will you fill me in willingly," his eyes flashed dangerously, "or do I need to help loosen your tongue?"

Giving him his most menacing glare, Douglas finally broke. "The bastard got my daughter pregnant!"

The inspector blinked a few times in his surprise.

"How can you be sure?"

Douglas laughed without humour. "I saw the way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. Then one night she came home late, which was unusual for her, and she was also acting strangely. I forced her to tell me what had happened. There's no doubt! He's the monster that impregnated my baby girl!"

"But why kill him? Why not simply inform his superiors about his actions and get him...what's the word..."

"Excommunicated?" He paused for a second before continuing. "I thought of that but didn't think it was a big enough punishment. Besides, I had no real proof."

"But your daughter's word-"

"She would never testify against him! She had fooled herself into thinking she was in love! Even said he was planning on leaving the church for her!" He laughed bitterly. "Poor deluded girl."

A slight silence.

"If that's true, then why did she lie about your alibi? Why did she say she was praying with you at the time of the murder?"

Douglas didn't want to say.

Brackenreid slammed his hands into the table, startling the man. "Answer me!"

He would not. "Have it your way, sunshine," the inspector said, grinning grimly as he pulled out a black glove.

After a few good whacks the man had come to his senses (or rather out of them) and filled Brackenreid in. Apparently he had threatened to kill his daughter and her unborn child if she didn't go along with his alibi.

Brackenreid stuck his head outside of the interrogation room. "Get this piece of trash out of my sight!" he hollered.

Crabtree jumped to attention and dragged the bruised and bleeding man to the holding cells.

* * *

Brackenreid was getting ready to leave for the night when he got a call from the chief constable. As usual, there were no pleasantries and it was straight down to business.

"I've heard that you _finally_ got your man, inspector."

He clenched his hand into a tight fist. "Yes, sir, we have."

"I also heard that you prevented McDonald from doing his duty after I expressly told you to assist him in any way possible. This insubordination must come to an end, Thomas, or I will be forced to take more...extreme measures. I take it you still remember what happened to Detective Lamb?"

Again with the not so subtle threats. Brackenreid knew there wasn't much behind them though. At least, he hoped not. His family depended on him to bring home the bacon, so to speak (they couldn't actually afford such extravagant food) but most of the time he found it nearly impossible to do what his superior asked of him because he was such an asshole. Unless there were direct orders from the Prime Minister or the Queen, he rarely obliged the man.

The inspector pounded his fist on his desk. "Yes, sir, all too well."

"Well then, I hope we have finally come to an understanding and that you will stop stepping out of line."

Abruptly the chief hung up.

"Goddamn prick," he muttered.

* * *

Before he headed home, Brackenreid went to pay Father Murdoch a visit at his church. After a few knocks, Murdoch opened the door to his rectory room.

"I wondered when I would be seeing you again." Then he gestured for the inspector to come in and take a seat. The chairs looked hard and very uncomfortable.

"I won't be staying long."

Murdoch sat back at his desk and finished writing the last line of his letter. Then he folded it up neatly and gave Brackenreid his full attention. "I take it you've found your man?"

"Yes, Father, we have." Murdoch's eyes were inquisitive but he said nothing. "It was Richard Douglas."

The priest narrowed his eyes slightly. "I see."

"You've known this whole time, haven't you?" His tone was slightly accusatory.

The Father remained mute.

"Was Father Brennan planning on renouncing his vows in order to be with Jessica Douglas?"

Again he said nothing.

Brackenreid sighed. "Well, that's all I really had to say. I just thought you'd want to know before it was in the paper...on the off chance you didn't already know."

Murdoch nodded curtly once. "It appears that you are feeling better, inspector. I am glad."

He sure didn't sound it so Brackenreid just shrugged.

"Are you a religious man, inspector?"

"I go to church once in awhile," he muttered, embarrassed for some reason.

"I find prayer and contemplating the Bible is a good way to avoid temptation."

_What was his point? That if I read the Bible, I won't use opiates again? Or drink?_

"I'll take that into consideration, Father."

"Good." He stood up and held out his hand. They shook once, firmly. "Thank you for discovering my friends killer."

Brackenreid did his best not to roll his eyes.

"You're welcome, Father."

"Goodnight, inspector."

"Goodnight."


	5. Chapter 5

As usual Paddy Glynn was the one to splatter the breaking news across the front page of the Toronto Gazette. Brackenreid didn't much like the young reporter but then again he didn't much care for the press in general. As long as the lad spelled his name right, they would be right as rain. Scanning the paper, that appeared to be the case and the inspector smiled to himself.

He was still feeling the effects of the Goldcure withdrawal and spending a lot of time in his office. Soon he was drifting off to sleep when there was a loud commotion nearby. Eyes snapping open he peered from his reclined position out into the common area. A young woman (maybe early twenties) dressed in black was trying to push past Higgins and into the holding cell area.

Now what? he grumbled inwardly, swinging his feet off of his desk.

"Oye!" he called as he approached them. "What's all this about?"

"Sir!" said Higgins, barring the woman's way once more. "This lady wants to see her father! I told her that he didn't want to see her but she didn't care!"

_Father?_

"Miss Douglas," said Brackenreid in such a tone as to get the young ladies attention. She immediately stopped trying to squirm past the constable. "Forgive me but I'm a bit confused. Why the hell would you want to see him? Have you not read the paper?"

"Of course I have!" she exclaimed in that same unusually loud voice. "That's exactly why I want to see him!"

The inspector became a bit stern. "Look, miss, I'm sure you want to give him a good wallop or two, I know I would but-"

"I need to see him!" she yelled, practically frantic.

Brackenreid frowned at her behaviour but nodded to the constable to let her through. He followed her in, intent on keeping on eye on her, in case she tried something.

Douglas had a black eye to go along with his blood shot ones. They widened in shock at the sight of his daughter.

"Jessica!" he said, standing up abruptly from his cot but not moving towards her or looking directly at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you, father! I just had to!"

She sounded close to tears.

"Get out of here!" he said forcefully. He turned his back on her. "I don't want to speak to you!"

"How could you do it?!" she shrieked at him, grabbing the bars. "Answer me!"

Richard Douglas would not be swayed and remained unmoveable.

_Cold hearted bastard_, thought Brackenreid.

"All right, miss," said the inspector, "I think it's time to go. You're not going to get anything out of him."

He touched her shoulder gently in an effort to steer her out of the area and she jumped back slightly at the contact.

"Listen to the inspector, Jessica," said Douglas, still with back turned.

"NO!" she yelled in an unholy roar, causing Higgins to pop his head in. Brackenreid shoved him back out. "Not until you look me in the eye!"

Douglas finally turned around and faced his daughter. They maintained an intense eye contact for several seconds.

"Satisfied?"

"Oh daddy!" she cried. "This isn't right! You can't-"

The man behind bars became enraged. "Jessica, I want you to get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"But-"

"GODDAMN IT JESSICA! JUST DO AS I SAY!"

Sobbing hysterically she turned away from her father and left the holding cells. Needless to say, Brackenreid was a little confused by parts of their conversation and his interest was peaked. He brought Miss Douglas in to his office and gave her a handkerchief to wipe the tears away. While she was still calming down, he had some tea brought in for her. She accepted it gratefully.

Once she was finished he asked, "Feeling better, miss?"

"A little," she replied weakly. "Thank you for the tea."

"My pleasure."

She stood up to leave and he followed suit, gesturing for a constable to come over. It was Worseley.

"Please escort Miss Douglas home. She's had a trying time."

The constable nodded and they left the station house together. Once they were out of sight he gingerly picked up the teacup and stared at it grimly.

_I hope to God I'm wrong..._

He was not wrong and he sighed sadly to himself in his darkened office with only the light behind him streaming through. Brackenreid had just compared the prints on the teacup to those unidentified ones from the murder weapon. There was no doubt. Jessica Douglas was the real killer and her father had simply been trying to protect her by confessing first. Brackenreid felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

What should he do? Should he bring this new information to light or should he let the matter lie? If the former, he would be ruining a young girls life (and her unborn child), but if the latter, a cold blooded killer of a priest would walk free and an innocent man would hang.

After his speech to the chief about doing his job properly, he knew exactly what he had to do and the thought made him sick to his stomach, far more so than the withdrawal symptoms had.

Brackenreid wanted to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible but for once in his life, didn't. He grabbed his hat and cane and hurried out the door. His next stop was the Douglas residence.

* * *

She was feeling so guilty about everything that had happened that it didn't take much effort to get her to confess.

"Why did you do it?" he asked gently. "I thought you loved him."

Jessica was crying again. She would not look at him but she did answer. "He said he was going to leave the church for me...and our child...but then he went back on his word!"

"So then you killed him?"

"Not right then...I didn't have the gun with me. I walked around for awhile trying to process this turn of events, but all that happened was I got angrier and angrier. Then I went home, got the gun and came back with it. I didn't have a plan. I wasn't thinking. I just acted. After the fact I thought I could make it look like a suicide. I regret that almost as much as killing him."

"How did you manage to kill him in the confessional? Wouldn't he have been in his quarters?"

Jessica shook her head. "Michael often stayed up late, contemplating the nature of things. He told me his favourite place to do so was in the booth. He felt closest to God there. Besides, that was where I had left him after he told me. That was also where we had most of our conversations and how we ended up getting as close as we did." Her voice broke. "I thought he loved me...maybe he did...but he just loved God more." She looked at him with dead eyes and an equally emotionless voice. "And now I will never see him again. There's only one place I am going."

Brackenreid didn't buy into the whole heaven and hell story but he wasn't so sure about her assessment. Father Brennan had sinned too, not on the scale of murder but still pretty bad for a priest. Who knows where his soul was going to end up?

* * *

The funeral took place just two days later on a pleasant enough September afternoon. The ground was still drying from a summer storm and that delightful wet earth smell was permeating the air. The sun was shining and only partially obscured by clouds but it was not hot, which was fortunate because the grave site was not shaded much. Only a few from the congregation and neighbourhood alike had come to pay their final respects. This was because the news of Father Brennan's indiscretion had spread like wildfire after the details were released to the public. As a result, the priest was not granted a Catholic ceremony in the church that he had devoted years of his life to. Instead, it was just a small group beside the coffin, one of which was Julia (though she was standing a ways back).

She felt completely out of place here and was wondering for the hundredth time what had possessed her to come. She pretended it was for clinical reasons, and that it was simply her duty to be here as a byproduct of her profession. But she knew that wasn't the real reason because she had only once before attended the final resting place of one of her 'patients.' She had been the only one to show up to his paupers funeral besides the priest. His name had been Eddie Green and he had been the pawn in a desperate plea to keep a previous murder from being discovered. If the inspector hadn't beaten confessions out of them (the men anyway, he would have never harmed a hair on Mrs. Smart's head), their secret would never have come to light. No, Julia knew precisely why she was here and felt like a fool for it. This would be the last time she would have an excuse to be around Father Murdoch. After this ceremony was over, she would never be able to justify bothering him again.

Father Murdoch spoke eloquently about his friend and though it wasn't easily detectable, she fancied he was quite moved by this whole unfortunate thing and speaking from the heart.

She was momentarily surprised when no prayers or last rites were spoken before two strong cemetery workers lowered the coffin into the freshly dug hole with ropes. Then she realized why this couldn't be. In the eyes of the church, he had sinned far too deeply to be granted such absolution. His soul was condemned to hell for eternity. The thought saddened her all over again. It was human nature for a man to love a woman and vice versa, so why was it such a crime? When love was taken out of the equation, what was left? Wasn't that unique feeling of cherishing and being cherished, what made life worth living? Wasn't that the whole point to existence?

The labourers began piling dirt atop the frugal looking wooden coffin. Most of the mourners left at this point but not her or Father Murdoch. She watched from afar as the priest embraced one of the remaining people and was irrationally jealous of the woman.

The priest silently watched as the men dumped shovels full of dirt on to his friend, until they finally finished. She watched him that entire time, thinking it was high time she left this place but unable to do so. When the men were finished, they nodded to her and then also left. Now it was just her and Father Murdoch. He looked over at her then, apparently noticing her for the first time.

Julia walked over to him and gave him her condolences. He took her hand and again was startled by the pure electricity that flowed from him and into her. What shocked her even more was when they _both_ pulled their hands away simultaneously, as if scalded. The priest looked at her strangely, then looked away and an awkward silence ensued. He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to her.

"I am surprised to see you here, doctor-" he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

In truth, it had never been spoken in front of him.

"It's Ju-Dr. Ogden," she said, hastily, fixing her mistake.

She realized then that she didn't know his Christian name. For some unknown reason, this really bothered her but even she wasn't so tactless as to ask a priest she barely knew for it.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Ogden."

"But of course. I was happy to."

She cringed, knowing how stupid a thing that was to say not two feet from the dead man. The Father simply nodded as if this was perfectly acceptable and then began walking away from the rather ornate looking headstone. She wondered about it and when the priest responded, she knew she had accidentally spoken aloud.

"It was the least I could do," he said not looking at her as they made their way across the cemetery.

"Priests earn a living?"

"Why, yes, we do. It's not much but it's enough to get by. I had some money saved up for a rainy day."

"Well, you couldn't have put it to better use."

What the hell was wrong with her? What kind of dumb comment was that?

Luckily he didn't respond.

"This might sound...impertinent of me, Father, but I just wanted to say..."

"Yes?" he said, still looking directly ahead.

"I think it was very brave of you to stand by Father Brennan through all of this...mess. It must have been hard for you, knowing what you did."

Father Murdoch stopped walking and turned to face her again. Under his piercing gaze she felt even dumber than before. "I didn't know anything."

She looked confused. "But-"

He waved his hand. "I just meant it was my duty to _pretend_ as though I didn't know. I was simply Michael's vessel through which to commune with God. Regardless of what these ears heard during confession, I was expected to see Michael the same way as everyone else, who didn't know the truth of his...fall from grace."

What he had just said was completely nonsensical to her.

Somewhat hotly, "So if someone told you that they were going to blow up a school full of children, you would do nothing?"

"It is not my place. All I can do is give absolution after the fact...and urge them to turn themselves in once they've confessed their sins."

"But that's ridiculous!"

The Father sighed wearily and didn't argue. Another awkward silence ensued.

"Forgive me, that was very rude of me."

"Never mind," he replied and they continued forward again.

They reached the end of the plots and turned to go their separate ways. Suddenly she remembered something else she had wanted to say.

"Father," she called and he glanced back at her. "This is another impertinent question...but do you know why Father Brennan went back on his word? How could he abandon his mistress and child?"

He was silent for so long, looking off into the distance that she wasn't expecting a response.

"Have you ever been in love, Dr. Ogden? Well and truly in love?"

His question startled her almost as much as the way he was looking at her. There was something in his eyes -a glimmer- that she had never seen before. She felt her face flush briefly.

"No," she said, the word caught in her throat. "I don't believe I have."

"That's a pity," he said so quietly she barely heard. He was still staring at her in that intense way that sent shivers down her spine. Then he blinked once and seemed to become more like his usual self. "If you had, you might understand. Even the most passionate love can never hold a candle to that of the Lord's love...for the truly faithful at least. It transcends the physical world and takes one to a unique plane of existence. There is nothing else quite like it. I have no doubt that what Michael felt for Miss Douglas was real but it was not enough. It can never be enough."

He smiled at her in a sad way and walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

He had lied to her and was still feeling incredibly guilty about it, almost as guilty as his role in Michael's death. Father Murdoch closed the door to his quarters, pulled off his robes so that he was mostly naked, knelt, and let fly the first of his punishment. He winced as the three pronged lash struck the tender flesh of his back. It was all the more sore because he had been partaking in this gruesome exploit fairly frequently these days. Every time he had had impure thoughts or looked at her in a way he should not have, had nearly crippled him with a need to repent and repent hard. And that's exactly what he had been doing. But it had not been working. The feelings would not go away.

The lash came down again and again and he bit his lower lip to keep from screaming. When he could withstand no more without passing out from the pain, he finally stopped. His flesh was rippling in waves of agony and he could feel the fresh blood dripping down onto his lower legs and heels. Looking at his brutalized back in the mirror, (like he did after each session) he tried not to gag at the hideous sight and smell. Besides the blood, there was pus oozing out of one of the older, deeper gashes and it gave off a foul stench. Murdoch knew that it was infected but didn't care. It was no more than he deserved. Regardless of his self loathing, he cleaned his wounds with water from a basin by the side of his bed. Just when he had finished and gotten his pain under control, a far worse, blinding agony struck him in his abdomen and before he had a chance to scream, passed out face down on his bed.

* * *

Father Murdoch did not appear for his evening vespers and his apprentice, John, came looking for him. The lad knocked timidly a few times and when he received no response, tried the door. It was not locked, it never was. John crept into the darkened room with lantern in hand and gasped loudly at the sight of his mentor in such a state. For a few seconds he was embarrassed at Murdoch's mostly nude form but then he wandered closer to investigate, eyes averted.

"Father," he said softly, wondering if he had simply fallen asleep. The boy didn't think it likely given that Murdoch had never missed a single call to prayer his entire time being there. "Father," he said louder, the sound a bit eerie in such complete silence and his growing alarm. It was only about a week since Father Brennan's funeral so the idea of a dead priest was not foreign to him and was indeed quite fresh.

John made sure to keep the light off to the side so as not to fully expose Murdoch as he reached his side. The boy poked one of his splayed arms but nothing happened. Then he shook his shoulder, trying to get some kind of response. Still nothing happened. One thing was for certain, Murdoch's skin was on fire and John knew from personal experience that this wasn't a good sign.

"Father!" he yelled, shaking his shoulder again, this time quite vigorously. "Wake up!

When he still didn't respond, John rushed over to the Father's basin and without looking or thinking, threw it on his burning flesh. Needless to say he was quite startled by the result of this. The white sheets were now drenched in blood, though it was not a deep colour as it had been somewhat diluted by the water. Nevertheless, it now looked as though Father Murdoch was bleeding out from a terrible wound, with drops of his life force falling to the ground and forming small pools. However, besides this unholy display, nothing happened. John began to despair and then Murdoch stirred feebly, lifting his head up slightly. John knelt down so that his face was level with the priests.

"Tell me what to do Father?" he asked in an agitated, excited manner. "Should I get you a doctor?"

"Doctor?" he muttered, deliriously. "Ogden."

"You want me to get you a Dr. Ogden? Where can I find him?"

"Morgue," he replied, completely out of his head.

Immediately the well intentioned boy sprung up and hurried out of the room. Murdoch never had a chance to tell him otherwise, though when he finally realized what he had just done, screamed at him in his mind to come back. The last thing he needed right now was to see her! Especially in his current state of undress! Using the last of his strength he pulled the thin, soaking wet blood stained sheets over his equally wet body. Ironically the blood actually helped to conceal his body better than if it had not been present.

Murdoch welcomed the pleasant release of oblivion as another cascade of agony surged through his entire frame.

* * *

Julia had been getting ready to go home for the evening, thoroughly glad to do so since Detective Hammon was back in action again. It was amazing how quickly she had forgotten just how much she disliked him. He was a very rude man who cared little for what she had to say but nonetheless occasionally had the audacity to make advances towards her even though he was married! He had even tried to get her to play doctor for him while he was injured but she was having none of it. She could have complained about his behaviour to the inspector but then she would be admitting that she wasn't strong enough to handle her own affairs and that outcome bothered her even more than his abominable conduct! As long as he never tried to cross a line with her, she would make due the best she could and simply ignore him as much as possible. Whether or not this was a wise decision, was up for debate.

In any case, she had just pinned on her hat and was about to turn out the lights when a young boy of about eleven years of age came bustling into her morgue. This didn't astonish her quite as much as his attire of white robes. Clearly he was involved with the church in some way, though since she didn't attend, had no clue what that might be.

"Excuse me!" he exclaimed, doubled over, completely out of breath. "Do you-" he wheezed and then forced himself to take a deep breath of air. "Do you know where I can find Dr. Ogden?"

"I am Dr. Ogden," she said, extremely puzzled.

He appeared to forget his breathing difficulties for a moment and simply stared at her in wonder.

"What seems to be the problem young man?"

The boy seemed to be at war with himself for a long moment. Then he shook his head and gasped, "You need to come with me right this instant! I'm afraid he might die otherwise!"

"Who?" she asked sharply.

"Father Murdoch!" he whined.

Julia clutched the cabinet beside her for a few seconds and then once the world had stopped spinning, marched over to her desk, grabbed her medical bag and said calmly, "Lead the way."

When they arrived at the rectory, John waited respectfully outside while she entered his chambers. Just as the boy had done, Julia gasped at the sight of him, prone, wrapped in pinkish/brown blankets, with slight blood pools by the bedside. All in all, it varied little from some crime scenes she had been to and for obvious reasons found this to be very unsettling.

Afraid of what she would find upon closer examination, found that she was rooted to the spot. Then she thought of their last conversation and the way he had gazed at her and forced herself to go to him, hoping it was not as bad as it looked.

Rounding the bed, she hunched over and slid her hand under the edge of the sheet and put two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. She released her pent up breath when she quickly discovered one. It was weak and very rapid, both of which were not good signs. In the next instant she frowned at his obviously burning flesh and the fact that he wasn't sweating at all and the implications of that. A fever caused by severe dehydration was likely the culprit but she needed to examine him further to make sure he didn't have any life threatening wounds. If this was indeed his blood, and she had no reason to believe otherwise, clearly he was cut somewhere. She raised the lantern higher and immediately clued in to the source. On top of the pink patches, there were a multitude of darker lacerations riddling his back. After doing Father Brennan's autopsy, there could be no mistaking that sight. The thought chilled her blood and again she froze.

Once more she pulled herself together and with one flowing movement, whipped the Father out of his coverings. Under any other circumstances she would be delighted to be doing so but in this instance, all she could focus on was pushing the blind panic aside and doing her job. Even so, he was far less clothed than she had been expecting, with only his underwear in place and this distracted her for longer than she cared to admit.

She shook her head and raised her gaze further up his well toned body, only to gasp again as she took sight of his ghastly back. One disgusting gash in particular caught her eye and it was probably infected. Even Father Brennan had not destroyed himself so completely. Julia bit her lip in distress. She gently rolled him onto his back to check for any additional wounds and then felt his abdomen. When she put a small amount of pressure on his left side, he moaned slightly. It was no wonder, his gut was absolutely rigid, further confirming her suspicion of dehydration. Now that she was satisfied that he was not going to bleed to death, she opened her bag, got a large needle and filled it up with mercury. Then she pivoted his right arm so that the veins were more easily accessed and injected the entire dosage. Next she gave him some opiates, rightly assuming he must be in a great deal of pain, or at least _had_ been, and this pain was the reason for his current unconsciousness.

Julia took another look at the nastiest looking wound and taking a very thin needle, pierced the pustule and watched as it began oozing a white, foul smelling liquid. Before it could really go any further, potentially causing additional problems in the other open wounds, she had caught it with a clean cloth and held it there until the gross thing had finally ceased to flow. Then she applied some tincture to his entire back, completely draining her bottle, but happy that it had been full to begin with.

There was little else she could do for him but she stubbornly tried to bring down his temperature a bit by following the boys lead and coating Murdoch with cold water. However, she did not drench him like the boy had, and instead rubbed him down with a cloth (she found herself relishing the task and once more had to chastise herself for such inappropriate behaviour). While he was unconscious it was impossible to give him any fluids to try and combat his dehydration so this was the best they could do. Unless they had an ice bath? But such a scheme would be difficult to contrive at a moments notice. Besides, it was more likely she would give him hypothermia than actually help him. No, it appeared that Father Murdoch's fate was entirely in God's hands. Though she didn't believe in him, she began to pray with all her heart.


	7. Chapter 7

When he regained consciousness, he immediately regretted it. Not only was there still a fair amount of physical pain coursing through his body, but he could blearily see the form of a familiar looking woman's backside beside his bed, causing a fair amount of emotional trauma. His instinct was to bolt, to get out of there before she turned around and just run until he no longer could. As soon as he tried to do this, the world began to swim and he collapsed back down on his bed the few centimetres he had risen. It was then that he realized his linens had been changed and were crisp and clean.

Again he glanced at the doctor and felt his face flush. The fact that she had borne witness to his shame made him all the more disgusted with himself. If he had had the strength at that moment he would surely have attempted to punish himself once more. As it was, he could barely lift his head off of his pillow, weaker even than an infant.

Murdoch's throat was so dry he felt as though he was suffocating on sand. When he tried to swallow, it was like nails against a chalkboard and he immediately stopped. With great difficulty he parted his blistered lips and forced his dried sponge of a tongue to move. A ridiculous squawk croaked out. It was so pitifully quiet that he was unsure if the sound had even left his own clogged up throat. He made another strange noise and then the figure beside the bed turned and looked down at him.

Nothing was said but an intense eye contact was formed, negating the need for words. Their gaze seemed to set his retinas ablaze, as if he were looking into the eyes of the sun, the eyes of an angel, and he could not maintain this searing blast for more than a few seconds. Light was streaming through his only window and suffused the room with a faint glow, surrounding her in such a way as to further convince him of her heavenly presence. The doctor then placed a free hand to his forehead (he had just noticed the rather large needle in the other one). The sensation was both electrifying and soothing and the fire raging through him seemed to lessen ever so slightly. She looked a little worried and his own expression adjusted accordingly, as if he couldn't help but reflect her emotions in his weakened state.

He wanted to squirm away when she brought the needle down on him but could not. He squished his eyes closed hoping it would not hurt too much. It did not hurt at all. She was so adept at utilizing the horrendous thing that it was like being tended to by a spirit. Not that he believed in such things.

For a moment he wondered if any of this was real or if he was hallucinating or worse...he was dead, stuck in some kind of purgatory with only the vision of her to torment him all eternity. He was snapped out of such thoughts when Dr. Ogden put the gleaming metal device away and then held a large glass of water in front of his face. Some droplets fell down the sides in such an enticing way that he would have salivated if he was capable of such a feat.

"Drink," she said softly, her voice like music to his ears.

He resisted her angelic melody and half shook his head.

She frowned. "You _need_ to drink, Father. You were severely dehydrated. If you don't, you will surely..._die_."

Her voice cracked ever so slightly on that last word and his heart mirrored it.

Begrudgingly, he opened his mouth a tiny amount and she lowered the cup to his lips, propping his head up slightly so that he wouldn't choke. The first sip was exquisite, even more so than his first taste of communion wine. Letting the feeling wash over him, he managed to bring his hands up to where hers were and forced the cup to a steeper angle.

"Careful now," she warned. "You don't want to over do it."

He didn't seem to care what she was saying and instead grabbed it from her so that he could greedily consume the entire thing, making ugly slurping and gasping sounds the whole time. She tried to take it from him but he whipped it away like a spoiled brat.

Before he had finished there was a terrible spasm in his lower abdomen, about the same location as the spot that had made him pass out. With a few sips left, he dropped the glass to his bare chest and it rolled to the side as he clutched at the area.

The doctor had an equally pained expression. She touched his shoulder and he experienced another jolt. He became conscious of the fact that he was still mostly naked. He shrugged the thin covers up over his shoulders again and she removed her hand.

"You have to be more gentle, Father. Your system has been denied sustenance for so long that it can't handle much in one go." She frowned and when she next spoke her tone was disapproving. "Somehow I doubt this was an accident."

He said nothing but averted her unbearable gaze.

Semi-normally he said, "More."

She sighed. "I suppose you can have more but you have to control yourself a little better. Can you do that?"

The Father hesitated a second and then gave her a curt nod. She smiled slightly and poured only a small amount in the glass this time. Apparently she didn't trust him very much. Wise woman.

After he had his fill of liquid, she forced him to eat a little bit of bread. Just a few bites and he tried to gorge himself on that as well. This time she was much more wary and took it away quickly. It was a good thing too because he was pretty sure his stomach couldn't handle anymore right now.

"When was your last meal?" she enquired afterwards.

"I'm not sure," he replied, voice normal but still weak. "How long have I been like this?"

"You mean, how long has it been since your pupil came tumbling into my office to get me to come and save your life because you weren't taking care of yourself?" He didn't respond; couldn't respond. "A few days."

"Then it was...over a week ago," he grumbled, feeling foolish for letting his atonement get so out of control.

She looked appalled by his response, then angry, then she simply made a tsking sound and shook her head. "That was _very_ foolish."

He nodded vaguely, agreeing with her. An awkward silence ensued. Finally he broke it.

"And you've been...(_looking after me...touching me_)...here that whole time?"

"No, I've been coming and going throughout the days. Someone had to make sure you got properly plied with medicine and...water."

He hazarded a confused glance at her. "Water? How did you get me to drink if I was unconscious?"

"You weren't drinking it," she said with a tiny smirk.

"Then wha-" His eyes flashed to the basin beside the pitcher and the cloth beside that and clued in to why he was still naked days later. The idea made him blush profusely. A small part of him was upset by the fact that he had not been awake for this but he squelched this idea as soon as it formed.

He cleared his throat and looking anywhere but at her said, "Was that really necessary, doctor?"

"Yes," she said, her tone serious but a little playful, "it most certainly was."

"But surely my sweat would have been sufficient to cool me off."

"I'm sure it _would_ have," she said all business like, "if you had been _capable_ of producing any."

"Oh," was all he said to that, feeling both stupid and embarrassed now.

"I have to leave soon," she said suddenly, making him glance up, "so I need to check your back wounds now. Do you have enough strength to sit up fully or do you need me to help you?"

"I guess we'll see."

He began propping himself up as best as he could, mortified when the sheet fell down his torso, resting on his lap, his only clothed region. In his mad dash to grab it back in place, he lost momentum and slid back down. Dr. Ogden ignored this pitiful display and instead lifted him back up with surprising strength. He supposed picking up dead bodies all the time had their advantages. Or maybe he was just so weak that any amount of strength was surprising. She pivoted him around in order to get a better look at his mutilated flesh and he did his best yet again to ignore the sensations her touch caused in him.

"How does it look, doctor?"

"Better, much better. The pustule I popped seems to be healing quite well." She paused for a moment and her hand lingered on a small patch of skin making his heart flutter. "I wish you wouldn't do such things to yourself."

Her voice was low and sad and he had a feeling she was close to crying. If she didn't leave soon, he was afraid that he would as well.

"Thank you for all of your attentions, Dr. Ogden, I greatly appreciate it. But I'm tired now and would like to rest."

"Of course," she said quietly, not really looking at him.

She lowered him down and tucked him in, again making him feel like a child. Packing her medical supply bag up, she headed to the door. Then she stopped and without turning around said, "Why did you ask for me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Out of all the doctors in the city, you chose me. Why?"

He was silent for awhile, pondering how best to respond. For once he settled on the truth.

"You were on my mind."

She turned around to look at him and they held another intense gaze and then she broke it and left him to ponder the rest of his life.


	8. Chapter 8

The days went by and his condition continued to improve thanks to the tireless efforts of Dr. Ogden. As such, her visits should have gotten shorter and less frequent - or should have ended all together because he should have gotten someone else to tend to him - but instead the opposite seemed to be happening. Murdoch knew he was being weak and foolish but he couldn't seem to help it. Whenever she was away from him she was all he thought of and whenever she was near him, well, sparks were beginning to fly. They had laughed together several times now and while it did his heart a world of good, it was not good for his soul and his life's mission. Though it would be almost impossible, he promised himself that once he was all better he really would stop seeing her and get on with his life and his true calling and only think of her from time to time as a fond memory, of what could have been had he gone with his original impulse all those years ago when he was just seventeen and headed to the logging camp in Montreal instead of seminary school.

She was there right now and for once he was fully clothed in her presence. He was sitting upright in his bed, with several pillows behind his back to prop him up nicely. The doctor had another needle in her hand but through her expert care, he had learned not be afraid of them and no longer flinched every time she produced one from her black bag of wonders. In many ways she was like an illusionist who knew all the tricks to confounding him. She was like a puzzle he couldn't solve, no matter how hard he tried. What terrified him most of all was that he desperately wanted to. But he knew he never would, knew he couldn't- and leaving aside all of his religious beliefs- knew he had no right to after all of his interference in Michael's affairs, interference that had led to his untimely death.

After this shot they somehow got on the topic of family. Murdoch was pretty vague about such things because there wasn't much _to_ say, at least nothing very good. His mother had died tragically, his father was a drunk deadbeat, his sister had completely given herself over to the Lord, even more so than him because she didn't travel into the outside world. It was no wonder, she had always had the stronger faith out of the two of them, something he had envied about her even as a child.

What surprised him was when Dr. Ogden was equally vague and hesitant in her description of her living family members. She had had plenty of nice things to say about her deceased mother but the other two were a different matter all together. From what he could tell, she didn't get along very well with either her father or sister and only put up with them when they were in town and wanted to get together. And though she didn't say much more than that, he knew she was hiding something else about her sister, something she apparently thought inappropriate to discuss with a priest, or anyone really. He had listened to countless confessions and it wasn't difficult to figure out what.

Murdoch wasn't sure what possessed him to ask the following but he did. He thought later that it might have been because he just wanted to know that she would find happiness with another since they could never be together.

"Tell me, doctor, do you have plans to start your own family?"

She looked at him like she had been slapped.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, glancing away,"it is not my place to pry into your personal life."

The doctor closed her partially opened mouth. "There's no need for forgiveness, Father. It's just that...I haven't given it much thought." She sighed. "No, that's not true. I've given it plenty of thought."

"And?" he asked gazing at her intently again.

It was her turn to look away. "And I don't believe that children are in my future."

Her voice was low and sad like it had been the day he had awoken. Murdoch didn't understand this sudden sadness and wasn't sure he wanted to. If they had been in confession, things would be different, he'd _have_ to listen to all of her problems, but he was quite certain that she was a non-believer so that could never come to pass, meaning he was safe for now.

Trying to lighten the mood he said, "Neither do I."

Her head snapped up and she looked at him strangely.

_What kind of dumb comment was that? How was that supposed to make her feel better? Obviously I won't be having children! I'm a priest!_

They sat in silence for awhile, neither looking at the other and he wondered how best to dig himself out of this hole. He couldn't think of anything and the silence stretched on and on until he felt like he was crawling out of his skin, like his fever had returned with a vengeance.

Oh for heaven's sake! he thought. Just say _something_ William!

"Have you heard of Jules Verne's _Mathias Sandorf_?"

_Where in God's green earth did that come from?_

She continued to look at him strangely, cocking her head to the side as if trying to understand this strange direction in conversation. Indeed, he was just as confused as she.

"I'm vaguely aware of it," she replied slowly, "but I confess that I have yet to read it."

"When you get the chance to," he babbled like an idiot, "you should, it's very good. Almost as good as _The Count of Monte Cristo_ but not nearly as intricate plot wise."

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm surprised you indulge in such...fantasies."

Murdoch cleared his throat. "I have some free time now and then and I think it's...necessary to open one's mind up to things outside of their...experience."

If only he had been willing to do so a few weeks ago. Then Michael would still be alive.

"Yes, that is very important," she said staring at him in a strange way but a _different_ strange way, if that made sense. Her eyes seemed off, they were getting darker, as if they were dilating. Why would-

Oh dear! he thought, this is not good!

Though he had felt certain things around her, he never really believed she felt the same way. Or at least, he had told himself this in order to make it easier to say goodbye once and for all when the time came. To see her...arousal, her attraction in such an obvious form was a horrible shock to his senses...but also very exciting. He wondered what was going on in her mind right now and if he was the centre of attention.

Murdoch gulped and cleared his throat again and when that didn't seem to be enough to snap her out of this trance said, "Well, doctor, it's getting late." It wasn't really, it was only two in the afternoon. "I guess it's time for you to go now."

"Hmm?" she mumbled, blinking several times. The darkness quickly receded from her vision and she focused on his face again.

"I said, I think it's time for you to leave." She looked hurt at the very suggestion. Did she think he was trying to throw her out? Technically he was but it wasn't because he didn't want her around him, it was for the exact opposite reason. "Don't you have a case you are working on?"

She had mentioned something about an investigation involving the Jewish people, how one of their own had been murdered in an unknown way. Strange how there was so much violence directed towards the faithful these days. It was most disturbing to him but then again, all murder was.

Her expression changed to one of understanding. "Why yes I do. It had completely slipped my mind."

Not meaning to, Father Murdoch smiled. "Yes, I gathered as much."

The doctor returned the smile and they simply stared at one another for awhile. He broke the contact first and then she needlessly began rearranging her supplies within her bag. He had a strong feeling she was simply stalling.

"Did you misplace something, doctor?"

Looking up, "Oh, no, I don't think so."

"That is good to know. Good day."

Dr. Ogden looked annoyed at being dismissed before she was ready to leave. Her face became impassive and he felt a little guilty. "Good day, Father."

* * *

The rest of the day she was in a bad mood, not the least of which was having to deal with the obnoxious Detective Hammon. The lecher had made his usual subtle advances towards her while simultaneously ignoring most of what she had to say about the case. For the millionth time she wondered how in the world he even got this job. Certainly he wasn't the stupidest detective she had ever had to work with, (that honour would forever belong to McDonald) but he was far from the brightest. Just once she wished she could work with someone who shared her passion for the study of the human body and all the forensics that accompanied this. Oddly enough, it appeared as though the inspector was growing increasingly interested in that field. He had stopped by on more than one occasion to check on her progress, something he had never done before except when Hammon was out of commission, which unfortunately had not been very frequently in her three years working at the morgue. She would much rather work with the inspector, even while he was recovering from a drug addiction. That is how little she cared for the other man.

By the end of the work day her head was throbbing and she wanted nothing more than to go home and rest. But whenever she closed her eyes or let her mind wander, a certain handsome priest would enter unbidden and take over completely. The things they had done together, the things he had done to her- well let's just say it wasn't fit for polite company. And though it was pleasant enough to experience for the moment, when she finally regained control, she would be left with such an empty, aching sensation that it was almost more than she could bear.

Julia knew it was only a matter of time now before Father Murdoch would be completely healed and then she would have no excuse to see him ever again, not a good reason anyway. And after all this time together, which is to say two weeks, she _still_ didn't know his Christian name! For some reason he _really_ didn't want to tell her and she had respected his wishes and not burdened him with hers either. And soon enough he would not be burdened by _her_ either. The thought made her more depressed than words could say and she decided that she needed a nice strong drink, so she travelled to the local copper bar around the corner and overindulged on some gin and tonic.

She half fell off her seat, managed to keep herself upright by holding on to the table and then stumbled for several feet until she bumped into a blurry blue someone. The man was dressed in his constables uniform and he had been talking to another constable.

He turned around. "Dr. Ogden?!" exclaimed the man in a highly surprised manner.

Julia focused on his face with difficulty. "George?" she slurred terribly. "What are you doing here?"

Vaguely she was aware of the other constables smirk, Henry was always doing that.

"I was going to ask you the same thing, doctor!" He looked at her in a worried way. "I've never seen you here in my life!" She lost her balance again and he awkwardly grabbed her arm to keep her afloat. Indeed her head was swimming so the task became too difficult and he helped her into a nearby chair instead. "Are you all right? Would you like me to escort you home?"

"I'll be fine," she lied. "I just need a moment to collect myself."

George nodded hesitantly and then went back to conversing with his friend. After a few minutes she attempted to leave but was still so out of it that she could barely stand. The young constable instantly recognized this and came to her aid. Henry seemed half amused, half annoyed.

"I'm sorry, doctor," he said taking her arm, "but I really must insist on escorting you home." He smiled nervously. "Otherwise you may end up in a jail cell."

"It wouldn't be the first time!" she said and laughed.

She was of course referring to the result of her infamous skinny dipping session on Hanlan's Point during her medical school years. It seemed like an eternity ago that she had had so much fun; acting impulsively, being free and uninhibited in ways almost totally foreign to her now. Then again, it was that same foolish passion that had led to her unwanted pregnancy and disastrous abortion. She had always felt her sterility was God's - or considering she didn't believe in him - the universes way of punishing her for her indiscretions. Even if Father Murdoch _could_ look past everything else going against them, surely he would never be able to overlook that? Surely he would lose all interest in her (assuming he even had any, she really couldn't tell if it was all in her head) whenever he found out. And he would definitely find out eventually, no matter how long or hard she tried to hide it. And what did any of it even matter? One way or another, there was no future for them, at least not in a romantic capacity. He had said as much to her that day in the cemetery.

In the few seconds in which this was all whirling around in her wonky brain, she had started to cry without her knowledge. Vision even more obscured, she could just make out the two constables uneasy expressions. Clearly they didn't know what to do or how to get her to stop. She had never acted so...feminine around them before.

With a great strength of will she solved their dilemma for them and pulled herself together. Even so, she could no longer look at them in the eyes, it was too embarrassing.

"Come along, doctor," said George quietly, tugging on her arm. She was just able to make out his words above the loud din of the place and her own drunken haze.

They moved slowly towards the exit, him supporting most of her weight, Henry hanging behind, intent on finishing his drink and having a good time with the other lads from the station house. George was going to call her a carriage but she stopped him, claiming she needed the fresh air to clear her head. So he walked with her slowly, arm in arm, as if he were taking her home after their first date.

They reached her house without having spoken two words together. This was partly because it was hard to speak coherently in her current state and mostly because the situation was rather awkward.

"Thank you, George," she said, straining to speak properly and grabbing hold of his forearms once more.

"Don't mention it, doctor."

She looked at the man before her and really scrutinized him for awhile. George was a kindly soul, who never spoke badly against anyone if he could help it, he was fiercely loyal and devoted to those around him, and he had a broad mind that was interested in all manner of things - not necessarily things _she_ would be interested in - but still, it was an admirable trait, as were all of them. He was also only a few years younger than her and more importantly, he was a bachelor, as far as she knew anyway. Ruby had spoken about him once or twice during her brief visit earlier that year, but had disappeared shortly after that so apparently hadn't been as interested in him as she let on. It wouldn't be the first time they had been interested in the same man. The question was...was she?

She had never given it much thought before because they worked together and if things didn't work out, it would be very awkward from then on out. Then again, now that she thought about it some more, did they _really_ work together? Hammon didn't usually require her to go to the crime scene, (she suspected this was because he thought her labours were pointless and also it would be difficult to behave inappropriately around her with the inspector watching) so except for the occasional run in when George was dropping off some evidence, or accompanying a relative to identify a body, they didn't see each other that much.

Did she want that to change?

Her brain was too much of a muddle right now to come up with any concrete answers so she bid him good night and headed on in.


	9. Chapter 9

Unsurprisingly she awoke with a terrible hangover. But because she was a doctor and had studied the intricacies of the human body and medicine in detail, she knew of several 'cures' for such a thing. Most of the time they didn't work very well (or at all) but once in awhile she got lucky. This was one of those times and she was pleasantly relieved when her symptoms were all but gone by the middle of the morning.

Since the only open case at the moment was going nowhere fast, she had a fair amount of free time on her hands. Remembering what Father Murdoch had said the previous day, she headed to the nearest book store and purchased Verne's _Mathias Sandorf_.

Within minutes she was hooked and she intently read for many hours at her desk. It was only when her assistant, Wilson, loudly interrupted her train of thought to tell her he was going to lunch that she realized what time it was. She also became conscious of the fact that her record had been scratching the end for quite awhile and was making a fair amount of noise in the utter deadness of the morgue. Julia didn't wonder why Wilson hadn't bothered to stop it. The man was mostly deaf and that was a large part of why he wasn't very chatty and why she felt compelled to surround herself with music and goldfish. Standing up to remove the needle, she suddenly had an epiphany.

It was nothing relevant to her current situation with Father Murdoch...or even this case with the dead young Jewish man...but it did relate to a previous case she had worked on. It had been another strange one, involving the Prince of England - Prince Alfred, an Irish group called The Brotherhood intent on killing him, as well as a man who thought his deceased daughter had been replaced by faeries. Now that she thought about it, this current case should have been much easier to solve but for some reason they simply couldn't figure out how the arsenic had gotten into the poor man's body. Regardless...she was getting off topic again.

During The Brotherhood case she had discovered a crumpled up piece of paper in the victims stomach. It had been a very strange piece of paper with no writing but several slits in it. She had simply assumed them to be tears and that the writing had been erased in the stomach acid. Now she realized that she had likely missed an important clue! The paper had been the key to a cypher! Just such a thing was outlined in the book she was reading! If Father Murdoch had been on the case, he surely would have realized this!

What were the chances that he would recommend a book to her out of the blue that just happened to relate to her work? Very low she should think. If that was possible, who was to say what else was?

With that thought in mind she smiled and made her way to him, completely forgetting to stop the irritating scratching noise or even taking her medicine bag with her. When she arrived at the rectory, he was nowhere to be found. At first she was severely disappointed, then she concluded that it was a good thing, in a way. It meant that he was healthy enough to go out and about now. It also meant that he would no longer be requiring her services. Trying not to think about that too much she asked one of Father Murdoch's acolytes where he was. Apparently he was out back in the garden.

Within a minute she had located him, squatting in the well maintained grass resplendent in his priest outfit and smelling some blue Salvia's, which literally meant I think of you. The coincidence of this was quite baffling and further convinced her that anything was possible. She took a deep breath and marched over to him. He stood up at her approach and smiled.

"Good afternoon, doctor."

"It's Julia," she said abruptly, making him raise an eyebrow.

"Julia," he repeated slowly as if savouring the word. When he uttered her name, she felt goosebumps on the back of her neck as if he were caressing her there with his lips. After a moments hesitation he said, "My name is William."

"William," she echoed just as he had done.

Then they stared at each other for some unknown length of time until she snapped out of it.

"I see you are doing much better today, Father."

Though she now knew his Christian name, she would not go blatantly using it whenever she spoke to him. That would not be very proper considering they were still fairly recent acquaintances.

He smiled again. "In no small part to you, I am sure." She smiled back. Father Murdoch's expression changed to one of polite confusion. "Are you here to check up on me?"

Now she was equally confused. "Of course. Why else would I be here?"

His hands were behind his back but he removed one to point at one of her hands. "Then where is your bag? Inside perhaps?"

It took her a second to realize that she didn't have it here at all!

"Well..." she said rubbing her arm nervously, "actually, I seem to have forgotten it."

"I see." They shared another look and then he surprised her with a delightful request. "Then perhaps you would do me the honour of taking a turn around the garden?"

"Why I'd be delighted!" she burst out.

He raised both eyebrows at that and instantly she felt like a complete imbecile and wanted to run away but he simply held out his billowy arm and she took it, clutching tight enough to feel his muscular bicep beneath the fabric. That was something else that puzzled her about him. How did he stay in such great shape if all he ever did was sit around and pray? Genetics? Or did he secretly take part in pugilist matches at night? The thought of him still dressed in his robes and beating men senseless made her accidentally laugh out loud.

"Would you care to share?"

Julia glanced sideways at him as they rounded some white wilting flowers and continued by the next batch of flora. "It was nothing, just some silly little thing that popped into my head." Pausing for a second to get her bearings she continued, "Speaking of, I was reading _Mathias Sandorf_-"

"Already?" he interrupted.

She hadn't thought of that. How desperate did it make her look if she felt compelled to read his book recommendation just the next day? She shook the thought off.

"Yes, well...you made it sound very interesting. _The Count of Monte Cristo_ is one of my favourites."

This was not entirely true, while she had immensely enjoyed it, she had found that book about five hundred pages too long, but she needed some kind of credible excuse for her behaviour.

"Mine as well," he said nodding.

"Anyway, in the book it mentions Sandorf's cyphers-"

"The pieces of paper with holes cut in them-"

"...and it occurred to me that a case I had previously investigated had just such a cypher in it!"

In her excitement she had practically shrieked out the last of that sentence and again he looked at her strangely.

"And, well, I missed the clue at the time," she finished lamely as they passed by some finely trimmed bushes on the side of the property.

"That is unfortunate," he said calmly. "Do you think it was an important clue?"

"Maybe," she replied thoughtfully, "the victim died with it in her stomach...but there's no way to know for sure now."

They walked in silence for a little while until they came to the far side of the large garden area where many trees in lovely oranges and reds and yellows were growing.

"Watch your step here," he said, "the roots have a will of their own."

"But no soul?" she said jokingly.

He smiled a little but it seemed forced. "No, no soul. Only mankind has an eternal soul."

She hoped she hadn't just inadvertently reminded him of his duty to his church and to God and to himself. Then she felt terribly. _What kind of person am I if I root for him to give up everything he believes in and all of his principles...just for me?_

Trying to get her mind off of that notion she said, "So the case I mentioned to you yesterday..."

Her mind drifted back to how she was a terrible person.

"Yes?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

Julia shook her head. "Well, we haven't been able to figure out how the poison was administered to the victim..."

"And?"

"And I'd like your input on it."

"I'm not sure I can be of much help. I am just a priest after all."

Looking at him pointedly, "A priest who reads scientific journals."

They stopped moving abruptly and he glanced away. "You saw those?" he asked, embarrassed for some reason as if he had been caught with pornographic pictures.

"Yes, I...accidentally came across them while changing your bedsheets that first night."

The memory of that incident made both of them blush. Father Murdoch cleared his throat and resumed walking.

"You'll need to tell me everything you know."

She filled him in to the best of her knowledge and memory, which was pretty good. They went around the garden several times, seemingly oblivious to this fact. Murdoch only asked questions at the end for clarifications sake.

"So you- the constabulary believe this Begelman to be guilty...but have no proof?"

"Essentially, yes."

"And you say he runs a sweat shop of sorts?"

"Yes."

"And does this shop not contain steam machines to press the clothing with?"

"I believe so, I haven't been there myself but I don't see why not." She scowled. "It wouldn't be very productive of...(_that bastard)_...Begelman if he didn't have any."

The Father looked at her meaningfully then and she raised an eyebrow. Had she accidentally said her thought out loud?

"The steam, Dr. Ogden, the steam."

Comprehension finally dawned and she hugged him, exclaiming "That must be it! You are a genius, William Murdoch!"

His arms were at his sides awkwardly as she continued to hold him close, breathing in the wonderful smell of him and lingering for much longer than was proper, which in this instance was not at all. The Father cleared his throat again and she came back to her senses.

Releasing him as if she had been scalded, she muttered, "Forgive me...I-"

"It's quite all right, doctor. You simply got a bit carried away in your excitement. It has happened to us all once or twice."

Julia seriously doubted that was the case for him but if she was being given a free pass out of that embarrassing situation, she would gladly take it.

"I suppose I should go tell the inspector of this discovery."

"That seems like the logical next step," he said nodding, with his hands behind his back again, signalling the end of their walk together.

Was it the end of their time together too? She just had to know and so couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Our doctor, patient relationship is over but can I come and...visit?"

He eyed her closely. "St. Basil is open to all."

She returned the gaze. "Yes, but can I come and..._see_ you?" Hastily, like a coward she added, "After all, I might need your insight into another case!"

Father Murdoch was silent for a time, looking off into the distance like he had done that day in the cemetery. She dreaded what was to come next.

"But of course, Dr. Ogden. As I told your inspector when we first met, I am more than happy to help the constabulary in any way possible."

"Thank you," she said stupidly grinning.


	10. Chapter 10

What a miserable coward he had been! He had promised himself to put an end to this farce of a relationship when the time came, but instead he had potentially granted her access to him for years to come! What was wrong with him? Why was he incapable of pushing her away?

Murdoch brooded on this topic for the rest of the day and just before he fell asleep, came up with the solution. He jolted upright in his bed as the full force of this understanding overwhelmed him.

_I am in love with her!_

He hunched over and tightly closed his eyes, hands clasped in front.

"Tell me what to do, Lord!" he muttered. "I don't know what to do! Guide this poor lost soul back onto the path of righteousness!

_A musical laugh broke through his desperate pleas. The bright smile that accompanied it took his breath away. _

"Lead me not into temptation!"

_Julia gazed at him until his knees went weak, until he knew nothing but those beautiful eyes. _

"Help me to find salvation!"

_She moved closer to him until their noses were almost touching. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he could smell her essence as it mixed with his own and latched on to him forever._

"Help me to-"

_ When their lips came together, the last of his strength was leeched and an eternal bliss took hold._

Eyes flying open he abruptly stopped praying and fell back into his pillows embrace. There were tears in his eyes but he either did not notice or care enough to wipe them away. He hopped out of bed and blindly searched for his lash. Finding it, he scowled at the horrible thing with disgust for the first time ever because he remembered the look of revulsion on her face when she saw what he had done to himself. Her voice had been filled with so much pain, it was difficult to even think of it.

Murdoch threw the lash aside and collapsed to his knees, arms hanging limply by his sides, tears streaming down his face unbidden.

_It's no use! I am doomed! I am ruined! For I am in love with her!_

* * *

Julia watched as the overweight men from the Jewish funeral home lowered Nathan Siebold's body onto a waiting stretcher. With one grand heave they lifted his lifeless corpse up and away from her, most likely for all time. A short while later they came back for the other larger body, that of Isaac Begelmen (he had not undergone an autopsy but had simply been there for cold storage). Suffice it to say, the conclusion to the case had been rather dramatic. While Nathan's unintentional murder had been fuelled by greed, Begelman's slaying had been caused by an overwhelming love of a woman. Needless to say, love was a powerful motivator and people did strange things when under it's rapturous pull.

Detective Hammon had been overseeing the body removals as well. There was no reason for him to be here except to irritate her with his rude, inappropriate behaviour. And sure enough as soon as the men were gone...

"Well, Julia," his stupid fat lips began, "it appears that it is just you and me again. How can we take advantage of that I wonder?"

She had told him countless times not to use her Christian name but he never listened.

Without looking at him she picked up some dirty scalpels and scissors used during a gruesome case overseen by Station House 3 and moved them over to the sink to wash them. Normally her assistant Wilson would do this but she was in no mood to deal with Hammon right now. Though she hadn't heard him approach because the water had been running, she had known he would do so as he didn't like to be ignored.

"That's not very nice of you," he said standing right beside her. While the slightly pudgy middle aged man with the receding hairline didn't actually smell bad, she imagined him to reek worse than a week old bloated corpse pulled out of the lake.

Julia continued to ignore him, added some bleach to the tub, swirled it around and plopped the 'utensils' into it. She picked up a pair of scissors and wiped off the dead tissue with a cloth.

"Why do you always do this?" he asked somewhat angrily.

Laying the clean scissors out on a cloth, she stuck her hand under the cloudy water to search for another.

"Well?" he boomed so loudly that her hand slipped and she cut her fingertip fairly deeply on the edge of a scalpel. Holding her hand above the sink, she watched as drops of blood dripped quickly into the white murky water, spreading out in concentric waves. Julia bit her lip slightly as her finger began to throb dully. She picked up a spare drying cloth and held it in place. She cocked her head to the side to glare at him. He seemed oblivious to what he had done.

"Do you need my assistance on a case?" she half snapped.

"No, but-"

"Then I suggest you leave," she said coldly. "I'm sure your wife would be delighted to have you all to herself. It must be a rather rare occurrence."

His face contorted in fury. "Now see here woman! I don't-"

"No, _you_ see here!" she exclaimed advancing towards him, pushing him back across the morgue observation level and towards the doors. "I am not interested in you! And I never will be! So for the last time, stop making advances towards me!"

"You ungrateful wench!" he countered as she manoeuvred him closer to the exit. "If anything you should be _flattered_ by my attentions! No one else seems to want to court you! And it's no wonder! You are a vile she devil!"

"I've had just about enough of your horrendous conduct!" Pointing the now slightly bloody cloth in his direction, "And if you don't shape up from here on out, I will have no choice but to inform your...wife!"

She was going to say superior but then changed her mind. Julia didn't want to involve the inspector unless absolutely necessary. Besides which, if it came down to actually firing the man, it would be Stockton's decision and not Thomas's. As far as she knew, Hammon was Stockton's plaything, little better than McDonald! The chief would be unlikely to get rid of the furious man before her, especially if it came to her word over his. Other than George and occasionally Thomas, no one in the entire constabulary really took her seriously.

"You wouldn't dare!" he bellowed, almost by the door now.

"Try me!" she shrieked.

Hammon scowled at her and then pushed through the exit, backwards. The silence after the fact was sobering and she became conscious of the pain in her finger again. Turning back towards the sink, she caught the reflection of a handsome face and her heart fluttered, stopping her in her tracks. William was smiling at her in a half amused, half worried manner. He moved out from behind the glass and made his way to her. She smiled warmly at his approach, forgetting her finger again and everything else that had just happened.

"Doctor, you seem to have a knack for getting into trouble. Do you get along with any of your colleagues?"

"One or two," she replied. She paused for a second and frowned. "You were watching this whole time?" _And did nothing? _

"Not exactly, I only caught the loud conclusion. But even if I had been here earlier, I would not have interfered." Julia's frown deepened and she opened her mouth but he put up his hand. "This was your fight. And from everything I know of you-from everything I just witnessed, you are quite capable of handling yourself. It would not have been my place to interfere as if you were not strong enough."

She didn't know what to say to that glowing recommendation so she didn't say anything at all. They just stared at one another for awhile.

"Is it bad?"

"Huh?" He pointed to the bloody cloth. "Oh, I'm sure I can handle it."

"I have no doubt, doctor, but that wasn't what I asked."

Julia sighed and unwrapped the towel before their eyes. The cut was deeper than she had thought, was still bleeding a little and probably required a stitch or two. Without a word she found the jar of disinfectant, sprinkled some on top, wincing silently and then located her needle and thread. Normally this was only used on dead people but it worked just as well on the living, though it was infinitely more painful. Luckily she had cut her left hand and so didn't have too much of a problem sewing the wound up. William watched the process with rapt attention. For some reason she was very happy that he wasn't squeamish around blood. Considering all of his self mutilation, she supposed he couldn't be or he would be passing out all over the place. The thought furrowed her brow and she wondered if he was partaking in that nonsense anew.

"What is it?" he asked, coming over to her side. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him from her chair. "Nothing, Father...my finger just hurts a bit, that is all."

"May I take a look?" he enquired, holding out his hand.

Without a second thought she placed her hand in his palm and experienced the usual electricity. He held her fingers up to his face for several seconds, as if inspecting them in great detail in order to devote them to memory. Perhaps he was. For one wonderful second she thought he was going to kiss her injury but then it didn't happen and she was rather disappointed.

"Everything appears to be in order," he said, releasing her hand.

Something just occurred to her and she stood up in order to be closer to him and his luscious lips.

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Father, but why exactly are you here?"

"Oh," he said quickly, "I was just curious as to whether or not you...had caught your man."

_Caught my man?... Ah, the case._

"In a manner of speaking."

William raised an eyebrow and she filled him in fully.

He shook his head. "I simply don't understand it. How could Goldberg do it?"

_How could he not understand it? His friend was murdered for just such a reason!_

"He was in love, well and truly. People don't often act rationally when in that state."

The priest gazed at her and said, "Doctor, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes?" she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

He hesitated for a moment. "Would you...what are the names of your goldfish?"

She had a strong feeling that was _not_ what he had wanted to ask.

Hiding her disappointment she said, "Jasper and James."

"Interesting," he mumbled, not looking at her.

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, I suppose I should get going. I have Thanksgiving Mass to give tomorrow and am woefully unprepared."

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Perhaps," he said nodding a few times. "Doctor, I don't suppose...I mean...you wouldn't want to..._attend_, would you?"

He stole a glance at her at the end and then quickly looked away. Was this the first time he had asked a woman to an event, even just a religious (and likely dull) one? Was this a...date? Of course she didn't _want_ to sit through hours of a tedious service but if it meant getting to see William in his element and just listening to him speak for an extended period of time, how could she pass up the opportunity? Besides, it couldn't be worse than going to that dreadful battery exhibit that Toronto had hosted a few months ago.

"It would depend on my work schedule...which as you know is rather haphazard."

"Of course, of course," he said hastily, bobbing his head. "It was a long shot-"

"But I _will_ do my best to be there."

"You will?" he said staring at her like he couldn't believe his good luck.

"But first I need you to tell me one thing, Father. And it's very important."

"Oh?" he replied, arcing an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

She smirked. "What time does it start?"

"Ah," he said smiling and told her.

"It's a date then," she said pushing her luck.

He stared at her with his mouth half open and then rambled, not looking at her, "Well, then, good, very good. See you then. Very good. Good. Good day."

"Good day," she replied, trying her best not to laugh.

Once he was gone, she grinned stupidly again, something she seemed to be doing very frequently these days.


	11. Chapter 11

He had been extraordinarily nervous about this Thanksgiving service because he knew that she would be there watching him and listening to his every word. And afterwards, they would have to mingle a bit over the communal meal and his congregation would see them together. What had he been thinking by inviting her? Why had she accepted? She couldn't possibly be interested in the subject matter!

However when the time came and he stepped up onto the pulpit and gazed out into the full church, his nerves seemed to have evaporated into thin air and he simply began his sermon as if he had never missed one.

All the while he was scanning faces, haphazardly, searching for hers. When that didn't prove to be very fruitful, he calmed down a bit and attempted a more methodical approach, going row to row until he hopefully spotted her. Unfortunately by the time he reached the end of the last pew, he had not located her! She had not come!

Murdoch had apparently paused in his sermon for too long and hushed whisperings were flitting here and there across the multitudes. He cleared his throat and mind and began anew, only repeating himself a small amount. Then about three quarters of the way through, just as they were reaching Communion, a side door opened and there she was! She smiled at him and with difficulty he managed not to return the gesture. His eyes followed her progress all the way across the back of the church until she found a spot.

Julia stared out at him and even though there was a great distance between them, he couldn't help but be affected by her gaze. He stumbled on the next few words and then stopped talking all together. The hushed whispering started up again and one of his acolytes, Matthew, who had been performing his duties for him while he had been unable to, came up to him then and whispered, "Are you feeling all right, Father?" Murdoch ripped his eyes away from her to look at him. "Would you like me to take over?"

"No, Matthew, that won't be necessary, I just- thank you for offering."

Finishing the last of his sermon with difficulty he then moved away from the pulpit to the raised dais on the ground level where the congregation was and poured the wine and broke the bread; Christ's blood and body respectively. Then he received his Communion and called everyone to do the same. They lined up in single file and he placed the small piece of bread on each of their tongues and handed them the chalice for one sip. Anxiously he awaited Julia's turn but he eventually realized that she hadn't risen from her seat and was still at the back of the church.

Murdoch made eye contact with her while he absentmindedly gave some more patrons Communion. He cocked his head to the side towards the dais, trying to get her to come to him. After a few minutes he sighed to himself and gave up. Clearly she would not be partaking in this ritual. Even if it didn't mean anything to her, it would have been nice to have her join the congregation so that she didn't stick out like such a sore thumb. Though some might say a non-believer receiving Communion was blasphemous, he didn't really see the harm. Besides, it was no more wrong than many thoughts he had had about her, wishing they were real memories. If anything proved to him that he was not fit to be a priest anymore, it was this.

The end of the line was fast approaching and he glanced back down the pews. Julia was no longer there and when the next person stepped past him, she stood before him. She was smiling in a mischievous way and he did his best not to return it.

Opening her mouth slightly, he placed the bread on her tongue and intoned, "The body of Christ." Then as she chewed, annoying slowly, he handed her the chalice and said, "The blood of Christ."

As she took it from him, their fingers grazed against one another and she shared a coy look with him. She stared at the chalice distastefully and then took the smallest of sips and quickly handed it back to him. He supposed maybe she didn't like the idea of all those germs. Murdoch had to admit, it was fairly unhygienic. He nodded at her once and then she made her way back to her seat. She had been the final receiver so he walked back up the few stairs to his pulpit and continued the service.

For the rest of the concluding rites he kept his eyes peeled to the far wall and nothing else, though his eyeballs began to itch something fierce the longer he did so. Luckily, there wasn't too much more to say and this stage of the affair would all be over soon.

Saying a final benediction in Latin, he then allowed his eyes a break and they immediately fell on her again. Heading down the stairs, several patrons came over to shake his hand. Some congratulated him for a lovely sermon and others mentioned how glad they were that he was back to his old self. If only they knew just how wrong they truly were. Of course he smiled and thanked them and then led the way out back, to the garden, where a large spread of dishes were located on a few wooden tables whose structural integrity might be called in to question.

Everyone gathered round in a large cluster and he led another prayer, blessing the food, the harvest and his congregation and finally it was time to eat lunch. Another long line was formed but many of the younger kids pushed passed and got into the sweets. They were shooed away quickly but some managed to run away with their stash of goodies. Murdoch couldn't help but smile at this. He used to do just such a thing as a young boy. The smile became a bit sad when he realized he would never see his own son do this, not unless...

No, he wouldn't think of such things right now. This was supposed to be a time of community and togetherness, not one of sordid thoughts about running away from the church in order to be with a woman, even one as lovely as she. Speak of the devil.

She approached him, smiling, after a few more wisher wells had left and headed towards the back of the food line.

"Good turn out," she said gesturing towards the line.

"Yes, the Thanksgiving potluck never ceases to draw a crowd. I am glad that you were able to attend."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier but duty calls at inconvenient times."

He nodded. "I ascertained as much. Tell me, doctor, what did you think of the end of my sermon?"

Julia appeared thoughtful and then that same mischievous smile spread across her lips. "It was _very _well spoken."

Murdoch cleared his throat and glanced away, embarrassed that she was calling him out on his mishap. Likely she knew the reason too.

"Ah, yes, you see-"

She started laughing and he couldn't help chuckling a bit himself, or rather _at_ himself.

"To properly answer your question, I thought it was straight forward and interesting...two qualities I greatly admire in a man."

He raised both eyebrows at her blatant flirting and then cleared his throat again. "Well, doctor, you should probably get in line before all the food is gone."

There wasn't much chance of that seeing as there was always leftovers at these types of functions but she seemed to fall for it and left him to collect his wits. The next hour could be very trying, very trying indeed. What had he got himself into?

* * *

She knew she shouldn't be quite so...playful in front of his entire congregation, after all, he had bravely invited her here, but she couldn't help it. It was just too much fun to tease him, and fun was something that had been entirely lacking in her life for quite a long time.

Julia selected the nicest bits of chicken left, as well as some salad, corn and a slice of pumpkin pie. If this food was any good she would probably come back for more because she had not had time to eat breakfast before being called in to work. The case had involved a woman jumping from the top of The Queen's Hotel. At least, it had appeared this way. Julia's brief examination of the body had told her otherwise. Someone had strangled her first and then pushed her off. Strange how recently there were so many attempts at covering up murders by making them look like suicides. She hoped this sort of trend didn't increase over time or her job would become that much harder.

"Hello?"

Julia focused on the present again and looked up from her sitting position on the well maintained grass and into the face of a little blonde haired girl.

"Hello," she returned. "What is your name?"

"Anna."

"That's a lovely name. My name is Julia. What can I do for you today, Anna?"

The girl seemed anxious and then burst out, "My brother said you were a doctor! Is that true?"

_Her brother?_

"Is your brother John?"

She nodded vigorously several times.

"Why, yes, Anna, I am. Are you not feeling well?"

Anna shook her head. Did that mean no, she wasn't feeling well or no, she was fine?

"I'm not sick," she said cautiously. "I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"_How_ did you do it?"

"Become a doctor?"

She nodded again.

"With difficulty. It was a lot of hard work but well worth the effort. Are you asking because you want to become a doctor when you grow up?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "More than anything! But my father says only men are allowed to!"

Julia smiled. "Well, I am living proof that he is wrong."

Anna seemed distraught by the idea that her only surviving parent didn't know everything. Julia suspected that the girl's father only pretended not to know because he was just like all the other archaic minded males of her time who didn't think women could do the same jobs as men and were really only good for two things; making dinner and babies, neither of which she could do...

The girl's expression changed to one of defiance. "Miss Julia, when I am older, do you think...you could help me?"

She had no idea how much that would entail and it would be a good decade before her services would be required. Would either of them even remember the other by then?

"Of course, Anna, I'd be happy to."

Anna smiled brightly at her and then John appeared by her side. "Hello, Dr. Ogden." Julia opened her mouth to speak but the boy turned towards his sister and said, "I'm sorry Anna but father insisted you leave her alone right this minute."

The girl pouted for a few seconds, gave Julia a small sad smile and then followed her brother back over to a very tall, domineering looking man. He glanced over in her direction and glared at her. She glared right back, blood beginning to boil.

When she calmed herself down a bit, she watched as William went from group to group, conversing with them, occasionally laughing a little. She wished everyone else would leave so it could just be the two of them, strolling through the secluded garden arm in arm, discussing anything and everything. And then he would finally tell her that he had feelings for her and they would kiss and it would be wonderful and he would leave the church and they would get married and she would magically be able to have children and they would live happily ever after.

She snorted and laughed at her girlish fantasies. But then, _why_ was she here? No one forced him to ask her to this shindig. Clearly he wanted her here. But for what purpose? They had scarcely spent more than a few minutes together this entire time. Was he just going to continue to ignore her?

Rationally Julia knew that he couldn't spend all of his time around her or it would be very suspicious. But she was an outsider to everything these people represented and she had no wish to change that. Was he hoping she would? Was he hoping she would be so swayed by these (rather dull) people that she would decide to find God and become a Catholic herself?

Again she snorted and laughed. Fat chance of that ever happening.

She finished her food, (at least that had made this worth the trip, it was quite good) and then tired of sitting, decided to stretch her legs. Julia was pretty sure she could walk through this elaborate garden for several years and not get bored of it, it was just that lovely. It was almost as nice as the garden at her father's home, though the one there would dwarf this one considerably.

At the far end of the property she leaned against one of those soulless trees, and could just make out the crowd still sitting, still eating, still doing nothing. No wonder she stopped going to church years ago. She hadn't been struck down by lightning yet so apparently God didn't care very much.

Julia walked back towards the flowers and finding the blue Salvia's, squatted down beside them like William had in order to breath in their aroma.

"You should take one," said a familiar voice from behind.

She smiled and cocked her head in his direction. "I don't think the gardener would be too pleased about that."

He smiled back. "On the contrary, doctor, I'm perfectly fine with it."

Raising an eyebrow she said, "You? You maintain all of this?"

_Is that how he stays in such great shape? Tending to flowers and cutting the hedges and grass?_

"Who else? This is my church after all."

He said that so proudly that she knew in her heart that he would never truly leave it in order to be with her; just like the case had been with Father Brennan. When she thought about it before, she hadn't really believed it but now she was quite certain of it. God would always come before her. She would always play second fiddle to him, or how did William put it? Even the most passionate romance cannot hold a candle to the Lord's love. And they weren't exactly having a torrid affair...

Standing up abruptly she said, "Excuse me, Father, but I have to go."

He looked confused and a bit worried but simply stood aside as she walked by.


	12. Chapter 12

She was elbow deep in the chest cavity of an old man when he entered her morgue. The sight should have disturbed him but for some reason it didn't. Most likely it was because he only had eyes for her. Julia was pleasantly humming along with the record player and was oblivious to all else.

Murdoch cleared his throat and she looked up and half froze. They stared at each other, saying nothing, as usual.

"If you keep showing up like this, people will start to get the wrong idea."

Her manner was joking but he sensed there was a hidden meaning behind her words. For once he wasn't mystified as to what that might be.

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You left quite abruptly yesterday."

"I'm fine," she said shortly and focused on the dead man before her. Then she attempted to rub her nose against her shoulder but couldn't quite manage on her own.

She started to remove her hands from the corpse but he said, "Hold on a second, doctor, let me get that for you."

Julia raised an eyebrow and appeared quite surprised when he actually scratched her nose with his finger. Indeed, he wasn't sure himself why he had. Perhaps he just wanted an excuse to touch her.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome." He gestured to the body. "What happened here?"

"Died in his sleep. He was quite rich. I'm just double checking that there was no foul play by his children."

"And was there?"

"Not so far as I can tell. I believe his heart simply gave out." She looked closely at him. "It's a remarkably resilient organ but even so, it can only take so much strain before it breaks down completely."

He nodded, not sure how to respond but knowing full well what she was doing. She seemed to be a bit frustrated with his silence and the next thing he knew, she had ripped out the mans heart and was holding it in front of his face! Blood was dripping down to her elbow and falling off onto the clean floor. She didn't seem to care one bit.

With her free hand she pointed to a fatty deposit within the severed aorta. "You see here, Father, it's almost completely blocked off. There was nothing anyone could have done for him. It was simply his time to _go_."

_Was she telling him to leave? Was she saying she was finished with him?_

"It's an unfortunate but necessary conclusion for all of God's children. For if we lived forever, we would not appreciate the time we _do_ have." He caught her eye. "We would...waste it."

"My thoughts precisely. It's very important to take charge of ones own life while we still have the chance."

He didn't say anything else and she made a face. Putting the heart back where it belonged, she expertly stitched the man up within a matter of a minute. Except for the music playing in the background, there was no sound and she would not look at him. Next she commenced washing her hands in the basin by the dead mans head. The water turned a familiar shade of pinky red, one that he used to be quite accustomed to seeing. But he refused to ever use the lash again so he never would. _She_ was another story. He _had_ to see _her_ again.

Murdoch took a few moments to collect his thoughts, absentmindedly watching as she dried her hands on a clean cloth hanging from the cart. She began to walk passed him and suddenly he had grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him and without thinking kissed her! She responded enthusiastically, thrusting her hands up into his hair, and holding her by the waist, he pulled her even closer...

"Excuse me," she said and he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. She was looking at him strangely. Julia pointed to the ground. "Please move, Father, you are in Wilson's way."

The man was holding a sponge and bucket and staring at him blandly. Murdoch looked down and realized he was practically standing in the blood from the heart. He moved off to the side and she went to sit at her desk and began filling paperwork out.

He was immensely displeased that he had simply been day dreaming again. This time it had been so vivid, so real, he was sure it had actually happened! He wouldn't have even cared if her assistant had seen them! Why couldn't he just make his move? What was stopping him?

Of course he knew the answer to that. It was beyond frustrating that he couldn't seem to make up his mind! On the one hand he didn't want to let down his church and congregation, on the other, he didn't want to let _her_ down. The question was, who did he value more? He had known and lived and learned with his congregation for years, for almost thirteen years! He had only known her for about three weeks! How could he possibly throw that all away, so quickly?

The answer was simple. Though he loved each and every member of his congregation, in a benevolent sort of way, he loved her with all of his heart. Almost the moment he had set eyes on her, he had known she was special, even amidst the sadness of the situation, a situation laughably similar to their own, as if God decided to punish him for his interference with Michael and Jessica, taunting him with something so exquisite but just out of reach. If this was a test to prove his worthiness to preach The Word, he was failing miserably.

Clearly her patience with him was almost at an end and if he didn't make a decision soon, he would lose her forever. The thought hurt him all over, like he was being stabbed by thousands of needles. It was now or never.

As he approached her his heart thudded against his chest and he felt sick to his stomach. His hands became slick with sweat and he rubbed them off on his robes.

Mouth suddenly dry he said, "Doctor, could I have a word with you please?"

"I'm busy," she replied, scribbling something or other on the autopsy report. "Besides, I'm sure whatever you have to say can wait till tomorrow. Or next year."

He cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm afraid it can't...Julia."

The scratching immediately ceased and she glanced up at him, attention clearly peaked. He had never uttered her Christian name except for when he first learned it. Apparently he looked so out of sorts that she put her pen down all together and stood up.

Jerking his thumb behind them. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

She waved a hand. "Oh Wilson wouldn't know if a bomb had just been dropped on his head." He raised an eyebrow at that. "He's quite deaf."

"Ah." Licking his lips he began, "I believe it's time to come clean and since there's no point in beating around the bush any longer, I will just come out and say it."

"Yes?" she enquired breathlessly.

Murdoch took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing pulse but having no luck. "I am quite positive that I am in love with you. Well and truly." She was gazing at him intently but said nothing. Hiding his surprise and disappointment he continued. "Julia, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, but I can barely believe it. From what you said in the cemetery-"

"I lied," he said simply. "I'm a priest, not a saint."

_And likely not even that for much longer._

She didn't say anything else to that but stared at him in wonder. Trying to figure her out he said, "Are you happy to have heard my declaration?"

She smiled widely. "Extremely." All of his muscles relaxed at once and he smiled back. She took his hands and they were both trembling with emotion and that other electric quality evoked every time they touched. "Forgive me, William, I just needed some time to process this moment, so that I could remember it forever."

"No forgiveness is necessary." He observed her for a moment. Wanting to make sure that everything was crystal clear he asked, "I take it you feel the same way then?"

She nodded vigorously. "I do, I most certainly do! I love you William Murdoch!"

They hugged for a long time and then when he finally released his hold on her she looked at him expectantly. He knew what she wanted him to do but he couldn't, not yet at least. He would not be making the same mistake that Michael did. Murdoch was sure that one kiss would be enough to send him over the deep end and he would never want to come back up for air. And considering how difficult the next step of this whole affair would be, he needed all of his wits about him.

She sighed at his reticence to kiss her and then seemed puzzled. "What does this mean for you? And your career?"

"Let me worry about that." He took her hands again and squeezed them. "Rest assured, Julia, I will do what is necessary."

Not wanting to completely disappoint her, he raised a hand up to his lips and kissed it several times, wishing he was touching her supple lips instead. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wilson staring, open mouthed. Murdoch didn't care.

They shared another gleeful look and then he turned around to leave but she stopped him with some light pressure on his forearm. "Wait," she said, suddenly sounding very nervous. He gave her his full attention, even though he was impatient to get this show on the road.

"Before you do anything else," she continued, "I need to tell you something."

_Uh oh,_ he thought. _This doesn't sound good._

"It's difficult for me to say. And once you hear it, you _will_ feel differently about me. But I owe you the truth, the entire truth before anything else can happen...assuming it still does."

She sounded close to crying and his heart lurched horribly. What could she possibly say that would make him love her any less? Murdoch gulped, also nervous now and nodded that he was ready to hear the terrible secret.

Not looking at him she said, "A long time ago when I was still struggling to become a doctor, I had...relations with a man...while unwed-"

"That means nothing to me." Though it hurt to hear it was not nearly as bad as he was expecting. After all, his friend had done much worse and he had still stuck by him, though in that case, it had been partly fuelled by guilt.

"I wasn't finished."

_There's more? Heaven help me!_

"I became pregnant..."

_Did she give the child up for adoption? Is that what this is about?_

"...and then...I...had...an abortion."

She was crying by the time she managed to get out the last word.

His mind was reeling at this revelation and he had to sit down before he fell over. She was right, this was far worse than he could ever have imagined! It was not only against the law to procure an abortion but it was also a grave sin! In the eyes of both God and man, all life was sacred and to destroy it like that... It appeared he didn't know her at all! He had foolishly rushed into this and now...

"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly, fighting the bile from rising in his throat.

Her voice was thick and hard to follow. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, William, but I refuse to lie to you."

"So it was simply an act of convenience?" he said, trying not to sound disgusted but sure he had failed. "You valued your career above all else?"

"There was nothing convenient about it. It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. Almost as hard as telling you now."

He jumped up and glared at her. "And _why_ exactly did you feel that necessary?! I was happy to be ignorant! We could have been happy _together_! What was the point!?" He had shouted the last of that and only just managed not to shake her until she took back everything she had said, until she gave him back the joy of the previous moment.

She sobbed for a time but his anger did not lessen. Finally she answered him. If possible this was the worst blow yet.

"The procedure left me sterile, William."

It was one thing to give up everything he held dear in this world for the love of a good woman. It was quite another to do it for a modern minded atheist, who had sinned in one of the worst ways possible! She had essentially committed cold blooded murder and had no remorse for it! And in His fury, God had made sure that she could never do it again!

Murdoch fell back into the chair, put his head in his hands and wept with her and for everything he had just lost.


	13. Chapter 13

For the past three months he had seen her everyday, everywhere, like a demon come back from hell intent on tormenting him. Each time he looked out across his congregation, she was there in that same spot smiling pleasantly at him; when he tended to the garden she would be telling him about another case that was puzzling her; and when he attempted to get some rest from these visions, he would see her in his room, taking care of him, but when he closed his eyes, the worst of their brief time together completely overwhelmed him so that it was all he could do not to wake up screaming and raging at her and God and everything in between.

Murdoch tried to see the good in his current predicament. At least she had had the decency to tell him _before _he gave up everything for her. If he had found out after he had left the church, or worse, after they had been married and attempting to start a family, he very well might have acted no better than Jessica Douglas. That young woman would also haunt him for the rest of his life. If he hadn't interfered with Michael's decision to leave the priesthood, she would never have gone completely mad and shot him in the head! She would not have been hung! Their child would still be alive! They could have been happy!

But he had been too pig headed for any of that to happen. Murdoch had been sure that Michael had simply made a terrible mistake, that she had somehow seduced him against his wishes, and that once he had properly repented of his sins, he could continue on as if everything was still the same. But of course it wasn't, never could be, and it was ridiculous to assume his friend could have gotten over his mistress simply because Murdoch told him to.

It was ridiculous but far too easy to accomplish. Murdoch had loved Michael as a brother, but the truth was that he had always been weak and easily swayed, especially when it came to Murdoch's opinions. Michael had valued them above all else, even against his own common sense.

Essentially Murdoch had murdered his best friend. And he would live with that guilt for the rest of his life. A life that was destined to be lonely and bitter and full of regret...

* * *

A few days later when he again couldn't get to sleep, he put on his winter coat and boots and went out for a midnight stroll. The snow crunched under his feet as he ambled along the darkened pathways, watching as his breath cooled and misted over, just like his heart had. Only the faintest of embers kept him from dying out completely. She was right, that organ could only take so much strain before it just quit, never to be started anew. It would have been more merciful of her to have simply ripped it out all together, like she had done to that old man. But she had left a few strings intact and so he was forced to continue on, with little strength and less purpose.

Murdoch shook his head to clear those thoughts. The whole point of being out here at this hour was to avoid thinking about her. If he wasn't even going to attempt it, he might as well just head back. He passed by a carriage or two and the occasional person but he had no desire to interact with them and so just continued on his impossible quest to forget about her.

Without meaning to he had ended up outside the morgue. There were no lights on and no one was home but he tried the door anyway. Unsurprisingly it didn't budge. He tried again and again and then slammed his fist into the steel door, feeling the reverberations shoot up through his entire arm. He was numb to the pain of it though, numb to everything. Murdoch hit the stupid thing once more for good measure and then left the morgue, hopefully for the last time.

Wandering around the city for another hour or so, oblivious to the cold and the actual physical numbness spreading throughout his body, he came across a man and women strolling in the park, arm in arm. Like the others before, he was happy to ignore them and be on his way but then he heard a familiar musical laugh and he stopped dead in his tracks. He could not see either of them clearly from his current vantage point but he didn't need to. There was no doubt in his mind who the author of that loud merriment had been.

The idea drove him even more insane. Here he was struggling to get by and perform his duties, and there she was, laughing it up with someone else! As if nothing had ever happened! Where was the justice in that? Why was she allowed to get a free pass and move on with her life? Why was he condemned for all time and stuck in a living purgatory?

With these thoughts in mind he descended on them, with all the subtlety of a blood thirsty T-Rex intent on ripping them to shreds.

"William!" she exclaimed in her surprise as he stomped in front of them, barring their way.

He glared at her and then at the equally surprised, tall, thin man with an idiotic moustache. Murdoch had half a mind to deck him.

"Never call me that again!" he said angrily focusing on her. "You lost that privilege the day you ruined my life!" The doctor raised her eyebrows even further than they previously were. "I'm _so_ pleased to see you enjoying yourself so freely! In the dead of night! Like a common whore!"

She stared at him open mouthed, disbelieving that this was really happening, that he could actually have said that.

"Now see here, Father," said the man sternly, pointing a gloved finger at him, "you have _no_ right to talk to Julia that way. She did nothing wrong, in both the past and present."

Murdoch almost laughed (or wept) bitterly. "Nothing wrong?! Nothing wrong?! What do _you_ know about anything?!"

"Quite a lot actually," the man replied calmly. "Almost certainly everything."

He scowled at Julia. "So not only are you...fraternizing with this...person!" he said furiously, gesturing towards the tall man, "but you are also telling him all of your- all of our secrets!"

"_Who_ I choose to spend time with and _what_ I choose to divulge to them is _none_ of your concern!" she countered, suddenly seething herself. "As you've made it abundantly clear, we are finished!"

"Infuriating woman!" he shouted, hands balled up into fists. "I'm glad to be rid of you! In fact, I wish I never had met you! You destroy everything you touch! What a fitting profession you have! You're-"

"All right then," cut in the tall man dangerously, "step aside so that we can be on our way. I for one have no desire to listen to your mindless berating of my friend."

"With pleasure," he said waspishly.

Despite everything he had just said, he tried to catch her eye and share a look like they used to. She ignored him completely, without a single glance in his direction. When they were out of sight he instantly regretted his harsh, terrible words. Something else to add to his growing list of mistakes. Would he never learn? Perhaps he was not meant to be a part of the real world? Perhaps his destiny lay somewhere in line with his sisters? Was it time to join her in the Montreal convent and say goodbye to life as he knew it? To say goodbye to Toronto and...her? Was this the only way he could move on with his life, as she so clearly had?

Sighing, he turned around and decided to head back to St. Basil's, for what might be the last time. For several minutes he experienced a nagging sensation, quite sure he had missed something important but unsure what that might be.

Suddenly it hit him! The man had said friend! They were simply friends! Not lovers! The realization made him giddy and he actually laughed out loud. There was still hope for them yet! He could still fix this! But how? Surely she would never want to see him again after this? After everything?

* * *

Julia had just returned from the precinct, after filling Thomas in on a recent development about the current case they were working. This one was a particularly nasty business, possibly the worst she had ever had to investigate. An entire family had been slaughtered in the safety of their own home and they were none the wiser as to who could have committed such an atrocity. It was times like these that she questioned her calling and wondered if she wasn't better suited for something less...depressing. After all, what was really keeping her here? She had never particularly enjoyed her work and plenty of other, younger doctors, eager to prove themselves, would be willing to take over for her. Maybe it was time to move on? A change of profession would surely lift her spirits? Wouldn't it?

"Couldn't hurt, anyway," she muttered to herself as she entered the morgue's side door and headed over to her desk.

When she saw what was sitting there, she almost spilled her steaming hot tea all over herself. Her entire desk and surrounding area had been covered in Blue Salvia's! They were all neatly bundled into stacks, and tied with string, as if a professional florist had seen to them. It didn't take a genius to know who had put these here (though she was rather confused as to how he had gotten his hands on so many or really any for that matter considering the time of year).

_But why?_ she thought. _Doesn't he hate me?_

As she moved closer, she noticed a white envelope peeking through the centre stack and with trembling fingers she picked it up, swapping it for her tea.

On the outside it simply said her name in an elegant hand. It must have been his but she had never seen his handwriting before so she could only assume. Part of her wanted to just rip it up right then and there and then burn the remnants, along with the flowers and be done with it. But a larger part of her was too curious and irrationally hopeful so this didn't come to pass.

Thinking it might be best to sit down before reading it, she did. Julia took a deep breath and then ripped open the envelope.

_"Dearest Julia,_

_ You have no reason to read this letter after my abominable conduct two weeks ago and many months before, and indeed, if I were in your shoes, I would be tearing these words up this very instant! But I beg of you to be a better person than me! I beg of you to forgive this lovesick fool! For I cannot bear the thought of you thinking ill of me, no matter how much I deserve it! _

_ I made a terrible mistake when I let you go and if you can somehow find it in your heart to love - no like me again, I will consider myself a thousand times blessed! Just know that I have and always will think of you fondly, even in my darkest moments, even when all hope was lost, even if you choose to ignore this desperate plea!_

_ Your unworthy servant, William"_


	14. Chapter 14

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

William whipped his head to the side, almost whacking his face against the grate of the confessional. Sharing a look, she smiled slightly at him and then he glanced away.

"I-I'm glad you came, doctor, I wasn't sure that you would. You must know that I never meant to say those awful things, I just, I thought you were courting that man and-"

She had thought it was something like that but even so was startled by his vehemence.

"Isaac and I are just good friends and have been since medical school. He's the reason I'm alive today. And please, call me Julia."

"What?!" he half shouted, half whispered. "What are you talking about, Julia?!"

"My abortion didn't exactly go as planned."

There was a silence between them in which the clock struck nine in the morning.

"He saved your life and I will be forever grateful to him."

"Tell me, William, how is that you've come to reconcile my past with your beliefs?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said even more quietly than they had been previously whispering. He caught her eye. "I'm still in love with you. I can't seem to stop...and I don't ever want to."

She was happy to hear it but Julia was a stubborn creature (and a bit mad at him still after dropping her like so much trash) intent on pushing him and potentially ruining this brief reunion.

"So because you love me you will let me off the hook? Even though in your eyes I committed murder and showed no remorse for it? How can you not see me as a monster? How could you possibly still love me?"

"You are no monster, Julia," he said quickly. "If anything,_ I_ am." He paused. "I killed my best friend."

It was her turn to be confused and shocked. "What on _earth_ do you _mean_, William?"

After a few seconds he sighed and then began. "Michael was intent on leaving the priesthood for Jessica and their child. I convinced him otherwise. And now he's dead. They are _all_ dead." He shook his head wearily. "It's all my fault. I am a miserable excuse for a human being. I have no right to be a priest or to be happy ever again. You should just stay away from-"

"Please stop William." He looked at her expectantly. "You know as well as I do that you did not kill these people. You did not pull the trigger-"

"No," he said laughing bitterly, "I simply loaded the gun and placed it in her hands."

It was vaguely amusing to her that she seemed to have taken over the role of priest in this exchange, while he laid bare all of sins and she tried to counsel and console him.

"You did no such thing. She did that all on her own. Jessica was clearly unstable before that whole unfortunate affair even happened. People do not go killing others simply because they are upset, not unless they have some kind of mental imbalance."

"Then I failed her because I did not attempt to get her the help she so desperately needed! I could have urged the courts to put her in the asylum! Instead I did nothing! Like a coward! I'm worthless! I'm no better than the criminals you help put behind bars! I'm not worthy of you or-

"_William_!"

When they next looked at each other, she could see tears in his eyes and the sight brought back bad memories of that fateful day in the morgue. She shook her head in order to remain in the present.

"I don't want to ever hear you talking like that again."

"But-"

"Listen to me!" she whisper shouted. "The past is the past. The only way we can move forward is to accept what we've done, the choices we've made and get on with our lives."

He raised his eyebrows. "So I should just forget everything I have done, or didn't do, and pretend like it didn't happen?"

"I'm not saying we should forget everything and just sweep it under the rug. If we did that we would never learn from our mistakes and we would be doomed to repeat them our entire lives. And that is no way to live. You need to _forgive_ yourself, William."

"That's just it, Julia," he said thickly, the tears freely flowing now. "I don't know _how_ to. I don't deserve to have that which I denied my friend."

She desperately wanted to hold him but there were others nearby and she wasn't going to make an even bigger scene by crawling into the booth with him. Now she was seriously regretting her decision to surprise him in the confessional. Listening to her own advice, she got over this mistake quickly and settled for an alternative at intimacy, placing her hand on the grate, curling her fingertips through the holes in it.

"Look at me," she said and he did. "Take my hand." He couldn't really of course but their fingers could at least partially touch. "I know in my heart that you can find the strength to forgive yourself."

"How can you _know_ that?"

She smiled softly. "Because you'll do it for me. For us. If we are to have any chance at a happy future together, you _have_ to. And isn't that what you want?"

"More than anything," he said solemnly, no longer crying.

"Good." Julia removed her fingertips from his. Trying to get him focused again and while they still had some momentum she said, "Now that we've established _that_, what is your next step to achieving this goal?"

"To go to the Diocese and speak with Bishop Meladrano," he said mechanically. "To be released of my sacred bonds-" He glanced at her and smiled cautiously, "so that I can enter into a different sort."

Julia smiled warmly at him and then her smile faltered. "You know I can't give you children-"

He raised a hand to stop her. "I don't care. All I need is you."

Her smile returned again full force. "Well then, William Murdoch, what are you waiting for?"

**Fin**

* * *

_I know you were probably all expecting more but this seemed like the right place to end it (mostly because I'm a sucker for parallels and symmetry). Besides, this story was more about their ability to get passed whatever hardships got in their way and appreciating each other for what they were, with all of their faults and foibles. It was not really a piece about physical romance. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And now I can focus on another story that I seem to have neglected, one that has plenty of physical romance. ;)_


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